


in the lion's den

by tnevmucric



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Akechi Goro Has A Palace, Alternate Universe, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Emetophobia, Gun Violence, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Bulimia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Incest, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, No Metaverse (Persona 5), No Phantom Thieves, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Repressed Memories, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, kind of, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-15 23:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric
Summary: one hundred and ten times i am roughly pushed. he led me. watched me. mocked me, and the drops of blood i lost.implore my mercy.





	in the lion's den

**Author's Note:**

> this work is inspired by dante alighieri's 'divine comedy' so there's a lot of references and quotes from that. this work also discusses a lot of heavy topics from a first person point of view so please be weary if the tags trigger you. happy reading.

My soul remains half-heartedly visceral in the gap between the bath and the window. It itches dandruff and smells of coagulated blood: wishing to tame my presence as a parasite would to its host. My soul remains with a purpose I have yet to discover and yet I sense I will never recover from. Like a constantly reincarnating force, it forces me further than the physical brinks of reality and shudders me into chlorine-soaked water chilled far below eight degrees. And oh, I am freezing. My skin is unsheathing and I am becoming less and less of that which deserves humanitarian treatment and evolving into the sickening likes of mold which grows at the souls of my wardens feet.

The ash of his cigarette both disintegrates and piles around my knuckles when I tap the excess down to his desk. There are no lights in the room, because the only light worthy of a God is the sun- and even then, it's a part-time job. I cough around the alight paper between my lips and swing left to right in his cushioned chair; my thighs feel good on the leather and I tilt my neck and shoulders back, curling into the cold upholstery.

 _"A concept"_ , she begins, and in my head I can hear her heels clicking against the tile floor. _"Hell is empty, because Hell is people."_

She was born in America, with all the mothers of generations prior resigning themselves to a life away from Japan. Men would do that. Men _could_ do that. More often than not, men let the power to take electrify their fingertips into a homemade taser. I wonder if it stung for her, watching the other women's eyes glaze as she was taken away to the place her mother had grown- to where all their mothers had grown. Men do that.

She'd enter the lecture with her shoulders pushed back and sharp smile quick to interrogate. Original theory stated that dreams didn't actually mean anything. Instead, they were merely electrical brain impulses that pulled random thoughts and imagery from our memories. She'd grin and say it was suggested that humans construct dream stories after they wake up; filling in the blanks to something that never was in order to fill in some inconsistent gap within their memory.

My dreams would always begin to conclude where her lecture would start. With the heat slowly crawling into my skin and the deeper tissue of my body being invaded by what felt like boiling water. My internal compass would place me somewhere between locations, unaware of any guiding path that would land me safely. No ramp agents, no glowing batons and my blood would begin to clot. I would always be fairly close to the reinforced Diomedes and not far enough from Brutus' stinging betrayal of Caesar just a few levels down. From afar, the Macedonian general Alexander would watch me with dripping-black eyes; the uncomfortable smell of rotting flesh acting like an unnerving penance for all sinful actions combined. Hints of jasmine from forests nearby could act as the briefest of reliefs but even still the screams made it hard to ignore the oppressive atmosphere. _Malebolge_ , I think indifferently. It would always be just ahead, the circular trenches of evil. The fraudulent. But the wasteland behind me called silently: a reckoning for the violent.

Unsurprisingly, and almost tantalisingly, I sit within the tortured souls unseen. The conference room I watch, which resided in Malebolge, was filled with monstrous reptiles; both petty and incriminate thieves pursued and bitten by snakes and lizards, who would curl themselves about the sinners and bind their hands behind their backs. Just as the thieves had stolen other's substance in life, their very identity would become subject to theft. The bright shine of their scales stung eyes and radiated a coiling heat: though that was more likely the ground below. My feet tingled as they hung over the edge of the pit, new blisters bubbling from both the heat of this Hell and the keen injection of sharp stones. I reach forward for one remote and pause the second television, moving to turn the other one up to volume twelve.

For a moment, I stay within the trench between these choices. Time passes too quickly within these odd rings and the screams of the ninth echo wildly through the air. The treachery leaves the taste of burning oil on everyone's tongues. _Nine_ , I decide.

 _"Whomever changes colour even faster will really disappear, perhaps",_ a woman murmurs quickly, stumbling backwards out of her chair and past my scruitinising post of the higher trench- the camera could only catch the barest of her body. Her gaze twitched on and off, resembling the faltering grip of Justice's hands. _"Strip me of this and I am but a girl, forged by her own-"_

Blood spurt from within her mouth. The deep yellow eyes of the python at her feet glowed with a dangerous animosity and I pull my feet backwards, away from the edge of Malebolge. The remaining animation of the woman's body died away to the will of the snake. _Lesson eight,_ I think quietly, as not to disrupt the just actions of the snake. _Make yourself feel free within the lion's den._

The footage stops and I blow smoke into its screen, glancing barely at the framed picture that sat between the two arched windows. My first memory maintains itself in the form of a dream; restitched and resewn through other's scraps of epic poetry and terrible Sci-Fi from the fifties. Somehow, I always find myself with bathwater flooding my collarbones and dying bubbles between my toes, coughing out dusty clouds of ash and cobweb. But right now, my skin sweats away the scent of chamomile moisturiser and on a separate monitor, a girl screams.

 _"You don't even understand!"_ , her shrill voice has the power to shatter windows, I think absently, straightening up to watch the fight. _"He really-"_

 _"Really what?!",_ a man who looks old enough to be her father yells back. _"If you're not back inside this house right now, I swear-"_

 _"Swear what, huh?"_ Snarkily, she tightens her ponytail and slings her back over her shoulder. _"Fuck you."_

Despite its quiet grime, Yongen-Jaya (like any other place) has its fair share of public discourse. I take another drag and sink back down into the leather, closing my eyes and letting his cigarette slowly crumble. A part of me feels happy for the girl, upping and leaving like that. The yelling that came from their screen was becoming a nuisance to say the least.

The office door clicks, and I crush narrow embers into my knee, flicking the crumpled paper away. Each footstep he takes sounds like the fraction of attention he demands: a silent threat. First, he stops in the center of the room, the slow sliding sound of his tie being pulled away making my toes curl. Then, a button being undone, followed by two more steps and a large clunk on the table. I spot his eyes in the reflection of the glass, somewhere in the veil between the sunset and that freedom which seems to partner with _escape_. More footsteps. The silhouette of his hand hovers over the off-switch first before touching the paused face on the screen: she was caught midway a thought. Something about antitheses, I think.

"Is there something about her which intrigues you?", he asks me, and the darkness of the room causes the orange of the sun to only intensify his statement glasses. I look away and balance my toes on the mantle, swinging slowly.

"Her voice is calming to me", I reply finally, picking at a scab near my hip. He seems something less than startledand leans away from the screen, perching himself on the corner of the desk with a lingering gaze to my legs.

"Oh?"

"Yes", I reply again. "Was your meeting challenging?" I swing my chair to face him but he has looked away again.

"Finish the tape if you wish", there is something displaced in his jaw. "I need to clean up anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes", he tilts his head then regards me with a look I could only describe as waiting. It was as if he'd meant to say _'taste this, go on'._ He closes the gap between us and cups my neck in his hand, thumb stroking the underside of my jaw. It feels plain and indifferent. "I'll get someone to bring you up a robe, you must have been very cold waiting for me like this. I apologise."

I shrug. "It can't be helped."

His lips press into slight amusement and he lets go, standing and checking his sleeves. "I'll see you later tonight."

"Take care."

He leaves the gun on the table, a messy reminder of how close he'd gotten to accountable tonight. I think of the woman, the reptiles eating her heart, I wish I could ask her how the dictator had made her feel, just resting that gun against her chest. Was he smiling? Was he enraged? Bad camera footage can only show you so much.

A minute passes, a stranger gives me a robe. Another minute passes and I go there again when I unpause the woman's face, sleep having yet to breach my brain.

After years, I don't understand it surreality. Is this my own kind of compartmentalisation? Wind whips frantically against my skin and it seems, in the process of traveling, I'd been stripped bare of the silk I'd sat in and was reduced to a ragged cardigan that reached my knees. The pants were too baggy and the undershirt stuck to my chest- I had no shoes, nor any socks and clenched my fingers into the rough wool surrounding my arms. Something about the place was always too familiar, even if I had dreamt it before. Despite the sharp song of the wind, an undeniable silence existed in the air with the crackle of radio waves in its chorus. I took a hesitant step and suddenly the red dirt became the dying grass of a meadow: the wind dispersed. Faceless voices buried themselves in the infertile dirt and I shuddered inwards, similar to when he had been before me. A ways away, beneath haunting trees that dripped with burning ice, a group of men stood and sat in a semi-circle; seemingly unaware of the vegetative state of the dying fire between them.

I go to force myself to take a step, but find my feet stuck: bound to the grass by the prickly veins of weeds. I look up in shock as a man was pushed onto the red coals.

"Fortune sides with him who dares", the man spits, hair unruly around the sharpness of his features. "Time is flying, never to return and _all of you_ shall continue to perish as I return to my harvest moon."

"You speak in rhymes", another hisses, "The exact of what brought us to this place. You _dare_ anger God again? You show the courage of fools while your flesh melts beneath you, friend."

"Fear is proof of a degenerate mind", I almost gag when the silhouette of the man's skin rips away from his knees as he stands; something that resembles a toga falls loosely around his shoulders and he spreads his arms wide. "If the decisive cruelty of _God_ is to punish me again, then _so be it._ I will have still lived more lives than that of your newly found creator-"

_"Heathen!"_

A large sound erupts from the sky and my feet stumble beneath me, the weeds releasing my ankles with a _snap._ I tilt sideways, against the fallen log of a tree and my ribs burn. It feels too real to just be a dream. I palm at my face, wiping sand from the corners of my eyes and further smudging the grime there. The groups' voice rises above the dead foliage.

 _"God forgive us"_ , they begin to chant, an ambivalent whisper free of the defiant man's insistence. _"God forgive us."_

"The snake whom lurks in the grass", I trip backwards again, broken twigs digging into my palm. My heart rejects my rib cage, forcing itself against my sternum and banging loudly. The placid... _thing_ , before me looks sad, tilting its head. "Your business here is just. You, too, are shackled to your rehabilitation."

Its eyes bleed a kind of yellow.

"This has never happened before", my voice cracks. "I've only ever seen others, and I've never been-"

The thing holds out its hand: revealing a bright red patch with growing welts on the palm. Its face is damaged with long cuts and burns and it smells of burnt toast crusts. I swallow audibly.

"You're me", I croak, and the doppelgänger squints with my eyes.

"If that helps you understand, then yes. One of nine."

"Nine?" I finally take the flaking hand and let myself be pulled to a stand, brushing dirt from my side and plucking the dead leaves from my hair. The doppelgänger nods.

"Yes, but we should not speak here. It would be best if we did not further provoke them. Please, follow me."

It led us further and further from the group, the terrain becoming harsher against the soles of my feet as the rocks grew in size and the nature depleted almost completely.

"Are you okay?", I decide to ask. "They threw you into that fire."

It shrugs and stops walking, joining its hands together gently with an air of perfect poise.

"It is what they must do to feel both remorse and forgiveness. I will not stop them."

"Remorse for what?", my tongue feels something like dense silver, "For who?" The clone looks confused.

"For going against God, of course", its face suddenly becomes troubled and composure started leaking from it like the crumbling foundations of a dam. "Do you not remember?"

"Remember what?"

"You visit often, Akechi-kun", it winces, "I believe you have only gone as far as the seventh ring- the prospect of continuing appeared too daunting for you to handle."

"Is this- is this just my way of handling things?", I trail off and look around. A strange sense of emptiness curls in my stomach and the clone nods to itself, pursing its lips.

"We never do remember the beginning of a dream. It seems you don't always remember the ending, either. Does this bother you? You _did_ once tell me that coming here was to help you gather your own thoughts."

The silence stretches around us and tightens in my throat. Like his hands. I find himself sweating despite a lack of proper clothes.

"You said rehabilitation?"

The clone stares.

"What for?", I question again and it frowns.

"I believe there must have been an overestimation-"

" _Please_ ", I grab its wrist. Watching it flinch in pain feels like dissociation at its worst: suddenly, I'm in bed and he's on top of me. I can see the clouds and the riptides. "I want to understand", I try again. The clone pries itself away from my hand with its head down and gestures flippantly towards the horizon.

"One of us for each circle of Hell. Among the anguish, it has embarrassed you to discover how easily your distortion was described. Your pain dictates your view of the world. Of him."

"What does he have to do with any of this?" It suddenly looks horrified, something I've never seen on my face and don't want to again.

"There are parts of you, whole _systems_ that see you as a lost cause. A word of warning, Akechi-kun. Here, in limbo, they turn their eyes to anyone but those who speak against. They try so desperately to mold themselves into the shape God asks and succeed in their own superficiality. It is more than rare to rehabilitate within your own distorted desires. You cannot do it alone."

"Those men want to be accepted by God?"

"Yes", its feet crunch against stray leaves, "by _him_ , and you will find that the deeper you go, the more they will try to hunt you down. It is one thing wanting to atone for your sins but it is another to be cast to the depths of heat in order to have your soul... refurbished. If it is your own rehabilitation you seek, you are going against a protocol instilled in your _blood_. Be weary of your actions as they will change your behavior in the outside world."

The wind gradually picks up again and finds its way back to my ears, louder and more pronounced in a certain direction. I take a step forward, ignoring the weakness in my knees.

 _"What if I don't want to change?!"_ , I ask, my voice yelling over the organic cacophony. _"What if I stay the way I am and never come back here?!"_ The clone smiles.

"You make me feel... sad. Do you recognise your existence? _Analyse it_ , even? You have the intelligence and yet waste it to unfulfilled days", it points out, looking away. "Perhaps you should go for a walk, sometime."

The doppelgänger snaps its fingers, and I am suddenly thrust back into the office. The woman on screen cleans her glasses and laughs.

_"As Fyodor Dostoevsky said, 'Hell is the suffering of being unable to love'."_

Japan feels worse during the night, my bones whisper to me. The tape stops. I curl my fingers in the sheets, head cast to the side as he gnaws at my flesh. His voice tonight is slick with faux-dignity and his spindly fingers brush my wet fringe back, trailing down the contours of my face to jerk up my chin.

"What a _good boy_ ", he breathes. "So good for me, aren't you? You're all _mine_."

The floorboards are a rough shock on my knees and I glance at the clock in the corner of his room. Ten minutes to nine. I shift and whimper up at him, squirming in my bindings. He laughs unattractively, wrinkles tearing through what was once probably an equivalent of porcelain. His nails dug into my scalp, heel bruising my thigh.

"Bet you want to _cum_."

When I spot my reflection, I cringe. Something about it brings me back to the dream: I focused in on my chipping nails. Something I have that he does not. I can have this, I think. I can enjoy this.

"Akechi-kun?"

I'm leaving his building at half past five the next morning. Turning back, I tilt my head and smile, spotting the outline of Sojiro Sakura. He stares back at me just as curiously.

"Oh", I answer, "It's good to see you, Sakura-san."

"You too", the elder man replies then raises his eyebrow, pulling his key away from his car door and folding his arms. "Is everything alright with you, kid? I've been hearing some things."

"Rumors spread incessantly here, don't they", I joke, smiling in a way that must be ugly and hiking my bag further up my back. "I must be going, now, but it was nice-"

"Not about that", Sojiro juts his head to the building. "That's your business. I'm talking about you. Some friends of mine mentioned people have been making some... less than _pleasant_ inquiries. Some lady who works for Special Investigations, I think."

Snakes, my mind supplies. They're coiling in my stomach. They want to slide up my throat and spill out. My knuckles go white around my bag strap.

"Thanks for letting me know", I reply quietly but Sojiro takes a step forward, making me pause.

"Kid-", he sighs, rubbing his forehead and stepping back. "If you need a place to stay, you know Futaba and I don't mind. She at least comes out and watches T.V. when you're around, get me?"

I nod and Sojiro waves a hand.

"Go on, off you go. Unless you want a lift to Leblanc? You look like you need some breakfast."

"That would be nice."

"Come on, then. Haven't got all day."

Leblanc is a small comfort among the ruins that misshape Tokyo. Japan, even. The familiar ring of the old gold bell above the door is enough to make my shoulders relax and Sojiro doesn't stop until he pulls his apron over his neck. I reside myself to the corner of the shop, sinking into the red leather with a sensation unsurprisingly different to the office chair last night. I drift in the smells of coffee and creaking wood. Where I wake up, is a place where no thing gleams. The eyes of something greater judges all those condemned by carnal malefactors. I choke on the smell of sweat and cologne, slapping my hand over my nose and mouth with a raspy cough.

"You've returned."

My doppelgänger lingers behind me, this time donned in red cloaks which seemed to have become soaked at the hem from dragging along the wet ground for too long. I cough again, moving closer to it through what feels like a growing haze.

"Why does it smell so-"

A haunting cackle erupted from the trees, the torso of a woman suddenly winding down from the exposed rope of her intestines. I immediately gag and stumble back, bile emptying through my mouth and burning my gums. My other self frowns pitifully.

"It was all she deserved, I am afraid."

"Her fucking _uterus_ is laying on the ground!", I spit wildly, pinching my eyes together and rubbing my tongue against my nails to get rid of the vile taste. " _No one_ deserves that."

"She should not have shared it so freely, then", it glares at me sharply and I stop, breathing heavily against my sticky fringe.

"Are you-?"

"I am the second of nine, yes", it glances back to the woman's body, her blood draining into the ground. "You are accustomed here. It is disgusting."

"What are you talking about?", I try to stand but the full weight of my doppelgängers gaze thrusts me to the ground: my cheek crushing against a patch of dirt.

"You are a howling darkness of helpless discomfort", it's eyes burn furiously. "This is your rehabilitation."

A snap echos through the humid air and from nowhere, arms shoot out and bound me to the ground. I gasp for air, attempting to kick out and scream but nothing works. It was as if the air itself had created a cocoon around me- which would have been comforting if my clothes didn't begin to melt away.

"Wait!", I cried, pulling against the nonexistent restraints, "No- no, _please_. _Please_ I don't _want this_ , I don't-"

"You _'don't want this'_ ", my copy repeats, "Your hypocrisy amuses even you, does it not? You will faint, as if you have met your death, and then fall as a dead body falls: with knowledge of what has been done to it."

I jolt against the chair and meet Sojiro's skeptical eyes. He's placed a steaming plate of food in front of me and slowly slips the hand away from my shoulder. My heart feels... empty. My thighs feel wet. I open my mouth to speak but close it again quickly, swallowing my words and looking away. He sighs and scratches his cheek, moving away to the counter.

"Eat up", is all he said, but I can barely stop my fingers from trembling. I feel like I'm bleeding to death from a nonexistent pain. Something like memory is being torn and twisted around me with the captivation of reverie. I quickly force myself to pick up the spoon and shovel rice into my mouth. If I was to drown, at least I'd be feeling something. Even if it was the uncomfortable sensation of white beads down my throat.

 _... But if I think of this as seasonal,_ I play with the belt loop of my loose jeans, _will it fade distantly? Or will I try to ignore it like passing trees from the dashboard of other peoples cars?_

"You're worrying me, kid." I look up and Sojiro is cleaning a mug, glancing at me over the rim of his glasses. The television has a comfortable hum coming from it and I squirm uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are", he rolls his eyes. "You always are- but no matter how much you like to pretend you're an adult, Akechi, you're still a kid. If you can't talk to your guardian, talk to me. Yeah?"

I look down and fiddle with the silver spoon, pushing the curry sauce around the plate and sparing no eye contact.

"I don't live with my guardian", I say finally. "I, um, haven't for a while." Sojiro pauses and tilts his head confusedly.

"Then who are you living with?", he asks. I lick my lips and feel my leg spasm: an involuntary commonplace. I shrug.

"By myself. I have an apartment not too far from here. I visit him when he asks me to but that's about it."

"Is that where you were leaving this morning?"

 _It doesn't work that way,_ I want to detest. _It's not what you think. We're friends, and it's fine._ This week feels like a worsening headache and it's only fucking Monday. I nod and say nothing, continuing to eat but still feeling the shine of the man's glasses burning a precise hole into my temple: like ants to a magnifying glass. My hand clenches in my lap. A chance at subversion won't dictate my life when my life has already begun.

For a second I think I see my clone in the reflection of the plate.

"Stick around until lunch time and relax", Sojiro says, just as an elder customer walks in with his wife. "I'll drive you home."

I let myself have this gentle moment. I am still allowed to be grateful for care. I let myself have that much.

 

* * *

 

 

 _"I'm back"_ , my phone crackles from its place on the window sill and I roll my eyes at the husky tone, dragging out a breath of ash before relaxing.

"You were gone for a while", I start coyly, "I was thinkin' you were gonna leave me to do this all on my own, daddy."

A low groan resounds through the bathroom and I check my watch with slippery fingers, wiping the fogging glass with my thumb. _"How about you tell daddy how much you want it, huh? How much you want my fat cock?"_

"I want it so bad, daddy", I reply, raising my voice to a small pant. "I- I want you so _bad_."

 _"Have you been touching yourself without permission, baby?"_ The man tuts loudly, the audible sound of a zipper going down making me cringe. _"I should punish you for that."_

"P-please, daddy, I don't want that", I hitch my breath, the bathwater sloshing around my thighs as I stand to get out, leaving the window open to let the steam escape. "Don't punish me, daddy. I'll be good."

 _"I'm gonna do it anyway"_ , the man grunts, breathing heavily into the mic. _"And you're gonna enjoy it, aren't you? 'Cause you're just a whore. Tell me how much you're going to enjoy it."_

"Ah!-", jutting out my shoulder, I press the phone to my ear, using my free hands to wipe myself down with a clean towel. "Daddy, I- I wanna-!"

The man moans loudly, a slur of obscenities leaving his mouth. Grabbing the phone again, I listen to his breathing even out.

 _"The- the cash will be in your account"_ , he splutters. _"Are you free Sunday?"_

"Yeah, just text before you call next time. I had shit to do."

_"I should slap you for talking like that."_

Looking at the ceiling and counting to ten in my head, I let out a shallow breath, tapping my foot against the tile.

"Sorry daddy", I coo, feeling a snarl itch on my lips, "I really, _really_ liked tonight. Speak soon."

I hang up as fast as possible and scoff, intending to waste the rest of my night hidden between four blankets and back to back episodes of _Featherman._ The floors are still cold in the kitchen because I forgot to turn on the heating and go straight to the kettle, setting it to boil and bringing out a mug.

Through the blinds, the blue glow of Takemi's clinic fought with the aromatic burn of Sojiro's cafe. Everyone seemed to have a reason to be up late, tonight. Before I even reached out for the spoons, my phone buzzed incessantly. I roll my eyes. I roll my eyes so hard that I swear for a moment that they tilt from their sockets- but my annoyance immediately softens to worry when a soft voice mumbles over the receiver.

_"Hey, Akechi, um, I was just-"_

"It's fine", I reply immediately, waving my hand to no one. "Come over now, I'll set up the bed and make you a cup of coffee. Decaf?"

 _"Thank you",_ she breathes out shakily, _"really. I'll be there in a bit."_

I think, if I can be kind enough, I can forget others kindness or lack thereof. I can deal with this tonight. I can forget empathy later.

When she arrives, she looks smaller than I've ever seen her. I only smiled as a mother probably could, wiping the black tendrils of makeup from her cheeks and noting her crumpled school uniform and knotted blonde hair. I quickly offer her clean clothes and the warm coffee to keep her occupied, but the blooming bruise on her cheek glares at me when I sit her between my legs, spraying detangler into her hair.

"I feel like I'm fucking dying", she admits, voice distant and nose blocked from mucous. "I- I _really_ thought that I could tell him _no_ this time, that I didn't want to, but this morning he offered me a lift to school and it all just went downhill from there. I don't know what I'm fucking doing anymore. I hate this, I hate _myself_ -"

She covers her face with her hands and trembles silently. As carefully as I can, I start to pull my comb through the tougher knots: listening as her breath shudders and fails within her chest.

"And Shiho", she gasps out, shaking harder, "I want to keep helping her- I love her _so much_ but I'm- I feel like I'm _dying_ , Goro, I-"

"I know", I say quietly, putting the comb aside and splitting her hair into three bunches to begin a plait. "And I know how hard it is to say something but this can't go on, Ann. How many times this month have you shown up here, all bruised and battered up?"

Ann laughs disdainfully and wipes her face, nodding.

"I'm sorry I always come here a mess. I know you have so much to deal with already and- and- it's just been so long since we've both had fun, hasn't it? For some reason I feel responsible for that." I shake my head, tying off the strands of her hair.

"You know that isn't true, and you know I value your company no matter how either of us are feeling", I pause, my fingers lingering at her split-ends, "You've got to think for yourself sometimes. If you don't help yourself now, you can't help Shiho later."

Her hand grips my ankle while her shoulders still shake and I sigh, wrapping my arms around her; cheek pressed to her hair. I squeeze.

"Thank you for being here for me", she chokes out. "I'll do it. I'm gonna do it. I have to."

"I know."

She's always worn a familiar rose perfume that I've never asked the name of. I wish I could hide her in Nara, somewhere where things like her were idolised and not sexualised. Somewhere with blooming trees and frost.

"We'll be okay", I promise quietly, and yet waking up the next morning felt more _wrong_ than _okay_.

It's still dark outside even as the sun lingers up. Scooters and bicycles are quieter than they were at night and I can't smell Leblanc's coffee through the crack in my window anymore. Ann is already awake and in her Shujin uniform when I force myself out of bed, and much to her dismay- I let her know how bad she looks. She winces painfully, setting herself up at the breakfast bar.

"Yeah, I know." At least she's covered her bruise up.

As I start frying the eggs, I feel her frown wash over me- something I don't want to particularly deal with after last night's debacle and my own insomnia-driven haze at two thirty to iron and wash her clothes for her. She speaks up anyway.

"Is work okay?"

I hum, shifting from foot to foot as the eggs cook. She goes quiet.

"Are you cutting again?"

The element is just a sharp reminder of how alive I really am. I turn it off quickly, swearing and shaking my hand to the side as the fire flickered off. The light sizzle reminds me of the bare corners of my dream and I tip the contents of the pan onto two plates before shoving both it and my hand under cold water. My jaw sets and I try to compose myself. Try.

"You can't just ask me that", I force out and she stares at her sleeves, pretending to trace the stitching.

"I was worried about you."

"I'm doing okay", I turn back around, grabbing the plates and placing one in front her with a fork. "Eat up, I'll walk you to school."

Her eyes brighten. "Are you sure? You don't have to." And, like any good friend, I swallow down the irritation in my throat like the unwanted monster it is. I smile (brittle and ugly: something with rotting teeth) and clasp her hand tightly, squeezing once.

"It's fine. I think we could both use the company, anyway."

The trip, although a bit of a bore, makes Ann smile all the way up to the looming, almost castle-like school. She hugs me quickly, restored to the effervescent light source she's always been.

"Text me so I know you get home safe", she smiles, an adoration I'm familiar with twinkling in her eyes. People like her are special, I realise, letting her hug me again. They care without fault. They risk their veins for love. She dances towards the direction of the school with a wave and I stand there in a cloud of her perfume: my sweater isn't thick enough to stop the cold seeping in.

"I wish it wasn't real. This whole situation is so _fucked up_ and I can't do _shit_."

My eyebrow twitches up involuntarily and I peer into a nearby ally, two boys stand opposite each other- one hunched with bleach-blonde hair and the other tall and leaning against a dirty wall.

"You need to give yourself more credit than that", the tall one says gently but the blonde shoots back, as if the prospect went against each of his moral codes.

" _Fuck you_ ", he swears. "You don't know how fucking debilitating it is to see your mom get hit by some _5'9"_ fucker."

The world is disgusting, I think, turning away quickly. It is a wasteland of inhabitants that mingle in dirt and toxicity. We normalise dissociating and become unaware of it all at once so we float in this societal space with nothing around us, seeing pinpricks of light to what is really a disconnected observation of the decaying death nearby.  _Take a breath._

When I get home (is it home? what does its worth measure to?) the weatherman says that the fog is thickening on the outskirts of the city. Some call it an omen, but lately everything I see has become this monochromatic wave. Am I dissociating like the rest? If I am, why does it feel like I can sense every atom inside of me exploding and painting my ribcage? I slide against the front door and bury my head in my hands. I long for sleep but it scares me to have dreams about someone I don't know anymore. I think of the woman. Her glasses, her hair and her eyes. She wears turtlenecks. Wore. _Is she dead?_ I long to ask. I want to watch all of her tapes on a repeated loop because maybe, just _maybe_ it could rewire my head. I'd let her tell me how to live my life. I'd hand my will to her on something more than a silver platter- I'd give her utensils.

My apartment smells of Ann's perfume.

I'm calling him before I can even throw the phone across the room and it rings with the same fucking expectancy as Lucifer near the entrance to Hell. Perhaps that is who he lives as in this lifetime, perhaps not. He picks up and my throat snaps in half.

 _"I wasn't expecting your call"_ , he states frankly and I scrape my nails down my forehead. I want to feel _small_. I need to feel _small_ and _nonexistent_. I want my dignity to forget it existed if it means I get some peace.

"I-", _I'm choking, please_ , "I was wondering if I could borrow those tapes. Of the lady at the university."

There's a pause. A shuddering, itching pause that wrenches my breath out from both of my lungs.

_"Why?"_

Why- I want to laugh and cry all at once. I feel my skin catch under my nails and quickly pull my hand away from my face, hints of blood lining the underpass of my nails. I'm shaking, I'm collapsing, I am a mass of fucking existence but I have no idea where I slot in.

"She's calming", I choke out, echoing my words from a few nights prior. He hums and I listen to the creak of his chair ( _back and forth back and forth_ ). I hear the embers hit his ashtray.

 _"Okay"_ , he says finally. _"I'll have someone take them to you. Do you have a VHS player?"_

My knuckles are like wooden wind chimes. "Yes."

_"Good. I'll see you next week, then, Goro."_

I am crumbling.

"Take care."

I cry. Like a child I _cry_ into the hinges of my elbows and hide myself in the corner of the door as far as I can. My phone falls to my feet and my toes curl: I sob loudly. If this pain exists, what parents it? What gave it life? I cry harder. I'm too tired to start over, I'm too tired to fall asleep. I'm too tired to see my own eyes stare back at me in the dystopia of my nightmares: Judgement personified.

The knocks on my door are deliberate and quick. I scramble up quickly, unlocking each lock with the precision of a preschooler. A man who looks like he's been ripped straight out of an FBI slash detective novel barely gives me a once over before passing me a bag. I nod my thanks.

"Shido-san also wanted me to give you this."

He pulls a small orange container out of his breast pocket and hands it to me- it rattles.

"Sleeping pills", the man clarifies, maybe noticing my skeptecism or glazed eyes. The latter was more than likely and I nod again.

"Thank you." He leaves without a word and I shut the door, once again lost in the compressive atmosphere of my apartment. Of the building he owned.

The first tape is one I've seen many times.

 _"Who here tells white lies?",_ she asks out loud, smiling. _"Oh, go on. Hands up everyone, you all do. It's nothing to be guilty about, we all do it to hide our souls or whatever philosophy you want to follow. Maybe you accidentally lost your girlfriends dog and blamed it on a loose screw in the gate."_

Her class murmurs but my eyes don't leave her. Her nails are manicured. Her heels are pointed and sharp. Her hair is tousled and long, similar to mine. She reminds me of Ann and Sojiro; that undefiable, universal care that you'd associate with a birthday radiates from her. From them. I close my eyes and listen to her shoes hit the floor; a pin drop after pin drop that sounds like summer rain.

 _"Whoever said be weary of growing colourblind was obviously in denial of the fact that they told white lies",_ white chalk against the green that framed her dainty authority. _"Everything has the sole formation of a lie. If I told you God wasn't real, several people in this room would take it in stride. The other third or so would tell me that I was straight up lying. It's all about perspective, remember... but wouldn't that then also suggest everything is made up of truth?"_

The rain is so loud that it turns into white noise. My clothes are immediately soaked and the mud- the _slush_ \- soaks into the higher parts of my ankle. My head whips around, a low growling in the distance raising the edge around my skin. My doppelgänger watches.

"How do you feel?", what I assume to be the third asks, lacking any kind of emotion and strapped in green fabric. My teeth begin to chatter and I take a step, still observing the area. It is both cold and searing hot. I think of Ann and my kitchen. The burn on my hand is inflamed.

"Scared", I say. "I'm scared. I don't want to be touched like that again. Those... those _hands_... I don't want that. Are you going to do that?" I direct my question to my clone and it shakes its head, clasping its hands behind its back.

"No. Your definition of lust and your actions themselves were not separated as they are now. How do you feel?"

"Scared", I repeat. "I told you. Where are we now? Why is it so wet?"

"It is a penance for greed", the clone replies, "a storm for putrefaction."

"I want this nightmare to end."

"You still have a ways to rehabilitation."

"It-", a woman's scream makes my body shiver. My saliva turns to salt. "It makes me _sick_."

"Do you want Shido-san to paint the inside of your body again? To torment your will with his words?"

"I- why do you _villainise_ him like that?", I choke out, "What's between us is- _it's just what it is!_ I'm fine with it!"

The doppelgänger squints through the rain, letting its hands fall lax at its sides.

"Very well."

My stomach turns and a sudden weight around my foot causes me to trip; I spit out a mouthful of sand and cough, attempting to wriggle up and bring my leg with me only to find it shackled to a large rock. I feel panic rise in my nervous system but recognise the expectancy in my clones eyes.

"Why greed?", I ask it. "That's what this place is for, right? Those who were greedy now get too much. I don't-"

"You feel greed", the clone recites blandly. "You have let many people near you, Goro. You've indulged too much. Is that not greed? When you make others worry for your wellbeing?" I bite my lips together and the clone looks up, wincing a smile. Half of its head looks bruitalised: bashed in and bleeding, it looks like someone brought a stone club to it. Its mouth opens but Shido's words leave it- the voice, the inflection:

_"Slutty little princess, aren't you?"_

...Lipstick, paints the clones mouth. A colour close to orange but not near enough to pink. Her pitch drips blood from my ears and shock stutters my heart. Her voice. Her voice.

_"-and then the wolf gobbled her all up!"_

I shake my head desperately, the groans of others' shackled remnants and bones hurting my head. "Each time I come here I only become more- more-"

"Your hell is infinite", my clone interrupts, twisting its hair between its fingers. "Tokyo has become a means of penance to you, because of your beliefs. It is nothing more than that. This is the cognitive place in which those feelings reside."

"How do I stop coming here?"

It can't look me in the eye.

"I asked the same question to God", it tells me. It looks sickening. "Most people use places like this to cope. To fix themselves."

" _I don't need to be fixed!_ ", I scream and I sound like a teenager, my voice breaking throughout all vowels- but exhaustion soon follows. "Please, _please_ -"

The shackle at my ankle tightens.

"I believe", the clone begins slowly, "in limbo, you were told that asking for help wasn't an unwise choice."

"I have no one", I croak. The clones eyes water: something akin to pain drags its features. It smiles with a quivering irony.

"You are truly saddening."

 

* * *

 

 

On Saturday evening, Sojiro drags his glasses halfway down his nose to give me a look that I could only describe as _parental disappointment._

"You look like the dead", he scoffs, "And I've _seen_ dead people. Wash up in the back, if you want, and I'll make you something. I won't have you dropping dead on my floor."

"Thank you", I mumble, hiking myself up to one of the barstools. "I-"

"Cigarettes on the counter, first", he orders, cleaning the inside of a mug with a yellow cloth. "You smell like a rats den. Green tea or jasmine?"

"No coffee?", I joke badly, sliding the half empty packet over to him. He sends me a sharp glare, dropping what looked like a home-made teabag into the mug he'd been cleaning and topping it off with steaming water. He set it before me before snatching up the cigarette packet; checking the contents, he gave me an unimpressed look.

"You're seventeen", he says and I wince, sipping the herbal tea tentatively.

"I'm eighteen next month."

"I don't give a shit", he pockets the cigarettes and huffs, crossing his arms and leaning back, picking up his own chain-smoking habit and purposefully blowing the smoke away from me. I glare at his cigar.

"How are you, kid?"

"Crap", I don't bother lying. "You?"

"That woman came looking again. She actually came _here_."

I pause. He leans forward and taps the counter.

"Listen and answer. I want a _yes_ or _no_ , understood?"

I swallow and nod.

"Do you know why she's looking for you?"

"No."

"Do you know anything about the Special Investigations unit?"

I hesitate. I can hear my nails scrape against the ceramic.

"Kid?"

"My guardian has some connections to them, I think. Other than that, I don't know."

"How close of a connection?"

"I don't know", I plead softly, letting go of the mug and covering my face. "I really don't. I heard half a phone call like six months ago, and he was just telling some people to gather shit for him. Please don't ask me about it."

Sojiro goes quiet and the strain in my shoulders feels like a metal coat hanger hooked into my flesh keeping me upright as to appear alive. I'm not alive. God, I'm nowhere near alive. My composure has left me as a snail leaves its shell.

"I know people, Goro", he starts, dragging over an ashtray and tapping his cigar to the edge of it. "More specifically, I know people related to that government bullshit. I want you to promise me that you'll come here if any trouble arises, and I don't mean another one of your half-assed _okays_."

My fingers slide away from the tea and curl in my lap, digging into my tendons and skin. It's like Shido's hands sometimes, when something has tripped up at work or someone fucked up in the place of him. He'd get a belt, but at least he dabbled in aftercare. I tie the strings of my sweatpants once, twice. I look him in the eyes: his age shows.

"I promise."

 _Is this a white lie or a differential truth?_ He sighs.

"Good", he takes another drag. "Though I have half the mind to believe you. You're not on anything are you? MDMA? Edibles?"

" _What?_ ", I splutter, staring at him in bewilderment. " _No_ \- nothing of that! Sojiro-"

He chuckles, taking a sip of his own drink that I hadn't noticed. "You need a break, kid. A long one. What's that guardian got you doing so late that you have to stay the night? Doesn't make sense if you're not living with them."

I gnaw the inside of my cheek and force an awkward smile, but I can feel the blackness under my tongue. "Accounting stuff. It's pretty boring, but he wants me to have at least a moderate level qualification before I turn eighteen."

"Makes sense", he taps ash into the tray again. "Remember what we talked about, okay?"

"I have the feeling you're not going to let me forget."

"God forbid." The bell above the door rings and Sojiro spares it a glance, but says nothing, switching on the small television and putting out his cigarette, he huffs loudly, grabbing another apron from the side bench. I glance over at the late newcomer and squint: a Shujin student.

"You're back late", Sojiro says, a kind of authoritative tone to his voice that is... bemusing, to say the least. "Take this as your penance. It's about time you learnt how to use the coffee machine."

The student catches the apron Sojiro throws and says nothing, dropping his bag to the closest barstool and passing by without a word. I jump when a cats head pops out from the satchel: big blue eyes blinking sleepily.

"Who's this?", I ask out loud, reaching forward and scratching the cats chin. It purrs loudly and rubs against my palm, making me smile. The student clicks his tongue and finishes tying the apron around his hips, now free of his school jacket and wearing a cream coloured turtleneck. He's smiling a little lopsidedly.

"That's Morgana. Mona, for short", he says. "If you keep patting him like that he probably won't let you leave."

"Speaking of", Sojiro swipes the kid in the arm with the edge of his cleaning cloth, "I told you _no paws_ on the counter, my only rule."

"One rule of many."

"You know what I mean", he brings out a bag of coffee beans and sets it in front of the student. "Go on, show me what you learnt from last time."

"You didn't teach me anything last time."

"If you were paying attention, you would have."

There's something sweet about this interaction that leaves me longing for something else. The cat pushes under my hand again and I curl my fingers in its fur, reminding myself of where I am. Distantly, I place myself back in reality. I want to go home and watch another tape before Wednesday sneaks up on me again. _Is this dread?_

"Why can't he try it?"

"He doesn't like coffee."

"I like coffee", I snap out of my thoughts indignantly, almost immediately receiving Sojiro's glare.

"You're not having coffee."

"Why isn't he having coffee?", the student asks. I nod.

"Good question. Even if the tea is nice, a coffee would be nicer."

"And seeing as it's _my_ coffee", the student picks up, "it would be even better."

Sojiro lets out a long, suffering sigh and I laugh, despite myself. "You're worse than each other", he exclaims laxly. "Go on, _try the coffee._ Just don't complain to me when you can't fall asleep tonight- or get the taste out of your mouth."

The Shujin student grins cheekily and hands me the coffee with two hands. I take the mug and gingerly sip. It's bitter, _really_ bitter. I wince and Sojiro's lips twitch into the barest smile.

"It's- um- it's unique", I fumble. Sojiro barks out a laugh and swipes the coffee away, continuing to laugh as left for the back kitchen. "You've got a lot to learn, kid", he told the student. The student only rolled his eyes and lent over the counter, putting his chin in his palm.

"Yeah, yeah."

"It was okay", I tried, giving him a grimace of a smile. He let out an amused breath and Sojiro came back in, apron-less and wiping his hands.

"We'll pick this up another day. Akechi, do you want a lift home?"

I shake my head.

"I'll just finish this and walk home. Thank you, though", I add and the man nods, fixing his hat on his head and pointing to the student, keys jingling in his hand.

"Lock up when he leaves and clean out the siphon. I'll see you tomorrow."

He flips the sign to closed as he leaves and I relax into Leblanc's hold. The steam of my tea hits my chin and I close my eyes momentarily. There's silence.

"How do you know Sojiro?", the student asks and I blink rapidly.

"Oh, um. He was a friend of my parents. He's always been around." It's truth enough, and I really have no reason to _not_ trust Sojiro. I look at the student who stares back at me shamelessly. He plays with his fringe. "How about you?", I ask. He glances away and picks up the cloth Sojiro had dropped, moving to the coffee siphon.

"He's my guardian for the next year. Akechi, right?"

 _Guardian_. I nod and swallow the accumulative spit in my mouth. _Nerves?_ "Goro Akechi. You are?"

"Akira", he replies, and then pauses. "You're Ann's friend."

Something about the way he says it makes me lean away. I draw my attention back to his cat and pat its sleeping head. "Yes. You know her?"

"Yes", he replies again, as equally resistant as I was. It's like when Sojiro had left he'd taken the warmth of Leblanc with him, only leaving it to linger briefly in the corners. "She talks about you a lot." His fingers are long and thin, and he has a build-up of tiny, splotched scars on his knuckles.

"Only good things, I hope." It's something I should have said with a crooked smile and a lean, a twinkle in the eye and a giggle. Instead, it remains deadpan and he shakes his head, a small curl to his lips as he looks up at me.

"Only good things", he promises.

I'm thinking about his tone until I reach my front door. The accent surrounding his words, the depth of his voice; my key lingers in the door and my forehead rolls against the rough wood. My stomach clenches and I breathe shakily: my hand clenching at the fabric near my thighs. Spit gathers by my lips and I feel starved, I feel as if I'd been left in the desert with a quickly melting icecube and I struggle to unlock the door. I'm a dog. A _dirty, disgusting, touch-depraved_ dog. The door jolts open and I lurch forward, hitting the hard slab of a body with little to no care. I _whine_. I can hear myself whining. Hands grip both of my wrists and I rut against the thigh between my legs, hearing the door slam shut as I am dragged to the lounge. I'm sweating. I'm _disgusting_ and _sweating_ and as I'm thrown to the couch I catch a flash of orange: my throat closes.

"I- I-"

The slap stings. It's sharp and it stings and I wasn't ready and I _cry_. He slaps again. _No crying no crying no crying._ He slaps again. I sob out. His hand grips the underside of my jaw and his knees dig into my hips, I gasp for air, pulling at his forearm.

"Who were you with?", he growled. _"Tell me."_ He digs his thumb into the top column of my throat and I cough loudly, my legs kicking out instinctively.

"I- Shido, I _didn't_ -" My nose cracks at the force of his hand and my back flinches up.

"I get here", he starts slowly, "Expecting you to be in bed like a good boy would, _hm?_ Instead, you're back at _half nine_ , ready to hump the wall with that pathetic excuse of a _cock_ like some grimy little slut. Huh? What, some boy _palm you up in an alleyway?_ Did he tell you you were _pretty?_ _ANSWER ME!_ "

"There was _no-nobody_!", I cry noisily, blood mixing into my mouth and making it harder to breathe. " _P-please_ there was nobody- nobody-"

"Apologise."

"There was-"

"Apologise."

I blame my body. I blame my fucking soul. I blame my legs and my arms. I blame Akira. I blame coffee and I blame my shoes. It's supposed to feel good, I'm supposed to like it. _Why does it hurt?_ I sob and slap his hands away feebly when he rips at my shirt. _I don't want him I dont want him I don't want him._ Is this what Ann feels when she fucks that gym teacher?

Shido Masayoshi exudes the danger of a ticking clock. He grins with razor teeth.

He bites, and I bleed fire and brimstone. He shoves me to the floor and I can't breathe, _I can't move._ Sweat beads on my forehead and falls in my eyes. _I can't stop shaking_. He kicks my legs apart and I can't move them back together. His fingers tug in my hair and force my head up: his breath smells of rotting eggs. Guttural and disembodied, he whispers.

"You always get off in the end, don't you? You like this, remember. You want this", _he grabs at me he grabs at me he grabs at me he grabs at me_ , "You're just like your fucking mother, ready to spread your legs for anyone."

_I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this._

"I'll stop when you admit you like it, how does that sound?", he chuckles and drops my head to the floor. "How long do you think it'll take? I think I'll be downstairs as soon as the big hand hits seven. Maybe sooner. What do you think, Goro? _Hm?_ Or maybe I'll call some of my friends up. You'd like that."

I'm decaying. I think I'm dead.

It feels like a burning iron rod impaling into my body.

I close my eyes and water rushes around me like a scream. Bubbles rush my ears and someone yells: I get vertigo and keel over, swaying with the newly born tide and meeting my clones unblinking eyes.

"Anger", it says, "is a torrent."

I'm slammed to the deck of the unstable boat we inhabit and gasp for breath, salt and dust clogging the air as the screams of too many consume it. The clone narrows its eyes at me.

"Anger is stupidity. You're ridiculous, a _child_. The water is as deep as your uninhibited wrath. If he saw this, do you think he would turn a blind eye?"

" _What_ ", I spit, my stomach turning as I tried to keep steady, "Your _God?_ "

I swear I could hear the grinding of its teeth.

"So you retain anger for the warden of our depths", it states, irritated and patronising. "Why? Does your anger not itself anger you more? It is pointless and fruitless- it has no direction. You are a compass between magnets." I scream. I _scream_ and I _scream_ and I _scream_ over the top of screams.

 _"I've been hurt so much!"_ , I yell. "Don't you _get_ that?! If this is my consciousness- my distorted _fucking_ desires- what am I desiring?! Why is all I see hell?! Why is my anger and pain not validated by my own _fucking_ psyche?!"

My doppelgänger smiles, and I want to rip out its throat. It tilts its head and the boat jolts to a stop, not a sound can be heard. I shakily stand, peering over the edge. All that is there is bones and sand- no waves. It stands beside me and I can see the bright sky in a place which seems eons away- past the mountains. The dark trees.

"What do you desire?", it asks. "You come here of your own volition no matter how many times you may think otherwise. This is a place of peace in comparison to reality." The sea slowly slinks it way up from the grains of sand and causes the boat to float again, I grip the edge but the waves are calmer, men floating without limbs rather than fighting each other through screams. I scoff, feeling tears prick at my eyes.

"If this is peace, then I do not know the meaning. Every time I find myself here I am subject to torment. Torment and bullshit."

"Think of it as processes to understand."

"Understand what?"

My clone looks away, chewing on its bottom lip. It's the most humane of all the clones I'd seen, I'll give it that, but it's far from comforting.

"I-", its voice cracks. "Goro. We don't like it, _we've never liked it._ "

I feel a quiver in my knees.

"You-"

It spins to me quickly, grasping both of my hands, and breathing erratically. "Please, _think_. What did he tell you?"

"I don't-"

"Shido-san!", the clone erupts, nails digging into my veins. "What did he tell you when he pushed you to the floor?!" Distantly, I could hear a door close. "Please, this is important, Goro. You need to _think_." It's fingers curl in mine and I can feel the sweat in its palms. My vision starts to go spotty.

"He- he said something about my mother." Something in my chest jumps- it's not my heart. "He said I was like my mother, he said I-"

Shido Masayoshi is a quiet man. Egotistical and full of unbridled ambition, his lips more often than not remain shut and tilted into a square grin. I see his face in the fog of the window.

 _"I know it's late",_ Ann says over the phone, _"but I just wanted to see if you were busy tomorrow? I want you to meet some people and we haven't been out in a while."_

I peel at the caking blood beneath my nose. Cum dries between my thighs and my pillow feels tough on my shoulder blade, I wriggle to get comfortable on the sheets.

"Okay", I mumble. "Around ten?"

 _"Okay!"_ , she responds brightly before pausing. _"You okay? You don't sound good."_

"It's late", I remind her and wipe my eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow, Ann."

I feel sick to my stomach and my chest aches. Reality shudders around me and for another moment I think I'm stuck within the crashing waves of my own Hell, feeling the water drown in my throat while my clone stares down at me. But then he's in my room again, and it's quiet, and his hand smooths over my hair.

"I'll see you Wednesday, Goro."

I don't cry. There isn't much left to cry with anyway. Looking at me, he sighs and stretches by the bed, picking up the remaining quarter of his cigarette and taking a deep breath: blowing the smoke away from me just like Sojiro would. I tuck my phone under the pillow and he squints, nudging my thighs and moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. His thighs aren't whiter than the rest of him (like me) but are hairy and scarred. He rubs his thumb on my hip and massages my side while he finishes off the tobacco. I feel weary. Is this _luck?_

"I'm sorry", Shido says finally, crushing the paper into the bed frame and clearing his throat. _What does an apology mean when I'm not sure who's at fault?_ "I took everything out on you, and blamed you when you shouldn't have been blamed. I just wanted to surprise you at home, I wanted to give you something nice. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, Goro, I apologise."

He reaches forward to where I know a blooming scarf of hickeys are. I can feel my jaw clench but he leans forward further, my thighs sliding apart to make more room. The glare of his glasses make me wince.

"I know you're upset at me right now", he says smoothly, "You're mad I didn't warn you and didn't ask how you were feeling. I understand that, but it always gets a little rough with us. You usually like that."

He kisses my jaw.

"I'll work on it", he whispers, "I promise. Talk to me, Goro. It wasn't all bad, was it? You came, I came. We had fun. We can have more fun on Wednesday."

The mattress is warm and hard. I can feel the springs but they don't hurt, not yet. I'm trying to understand and I'm trying to compensate for what I can't. Do I say something? Who can I trust? If I called Sojiro, I know he'd drop anything to come help me.

Why am I asking for help in the first place?

"Or", his fingers are calloused, "we can cancel. How are you feeling?"

"I'd like to sleep", I want to cough the mucus out from my throat. I want to scratch my skin off.

"Back at the house?", he asks with a tilted head and I shake mine, moving to sit up.

"No, no I-"

His hand moves my thighs apart and forces me to lay back down. I blink rapidly. I hear a click in my knee and stutter around my words.

"I'll see you Wednesday", I try, clenching my fingers in the mattress cover. He nuzzles my skin, pressing a wet kiss to the side of my hip. I feel everything. I feel sick. I feel the comfort he creates with some kind of noxious air.

"Okay, okay. Wednesday. Tell me you're okay."

I almost choke on bile when his thumb nudges my entrance. I spread my legs wider, feeling my stomach clench in arousal. He owns this moment. He paid for it, for me. This is just a timeline of events. This is just living and being alive.

"I'm okay, I'm-"

I gasp and tilt my head and body back into his hands, throbbing and feeling him throb against me. There are yellow eyes everywhere and I can smell something cheap. I think it could be me. He gets rougher. Harder. The mattress springs dig into me.

"You're so hot", he murmurs. His sweat makes me gag. "You're so _tight_ , Goro."

The nerves in my arm twitch and my elbow hits the bedside table, sending the tapes he'd given me to the floor. I think of her. I think of her as he crawls between my thighs and strokes. I wish she were my mother. Elegant and caring- _intelligent_. My mother is only now a distant and regretful memory; even a shadow in my room with the physical tangibility of a bathrobe has more definition than her.

"I want you to call me _daddy_ ", he whispers in my ear. Wet and slick. "You can do that, can't you? I know you can. Call me daddy, Goro."

I send myself elsewhere when he thrusts into me. The pleasure bleeds out from behind the pain and I know there's an abandoned lube bottle somewhere within his reach. I'm whining and I don't know if that's a good thing anymore. I can see my own feet under the closed door. I'm there and I'm listening and I can smell smoke and sex and I am _four years old_ , crying against a wooden oak door, and I want my parents to sing me goodnight. I don't understand what's happening, but I don't like hugging.

Before the big hand hits eleven, he kisses my shoulder and ruffles my hair.

"I'll see you Wednesday. Rest up."

I think my mother's smile was coral.

"Could you-", Shido pauses, midway buttoning his shirt and I swallow. Pointing to the television. "Could you put on one of the tapes? I might stay up for a little while longer." _And cry_ , I don't add.

I think she was made from candy-cane shards.

"... Of course." His feet are wet with me and create audible steps across the floorboards. He picks a random tape up (one with a blue dot) and goes back to the T.V., slotting it into the VHS player and glancing back. "Make sure you sleep", he reiterates. I nod. I nod. I keep nodding until he's gone, but then I nod again.

 _"I like the people who wake up and make the effort to remind themselves that 'yes, I'm alive for another day' ",_  she is clear and unwavering. _"There's a lot of strength in a person like that. A lot of resilience. I wish I could be like that, but there is so much danger in negligence to our reality."_

I suffocate myself in the pillow, somewhere between sobbing and laughing. I can't stop shaking and there is still dried blood on me, small spots I won't forget even when I get up and shower. Her voice itches my ears.

_"Life is beautiful if we let it be. That's as far as I'll let myself go."_

 

* * *

 

 

The night offered me comfort in blankets of rain while the day does little to shield me. The sun is hidden behind dark clouds and I stand under the cover of a small news agency, cherry-blossoms being torn down from the trees as another gust of rain hits the concrete.

I spot him in my periphery. Death on two legs.

"Hey", Akira greets, umbrella high above his head. "I'm glad you're here." I offer him a small, uncomfortable smile. I feel like he can see through me. He knows what I'm thinking, or worse, he knows what I've done.

"I wasn't aware you were coming along", I reply. "How many others are there?"

Akira retracts his umbrella and leans against the wall beside me, shaking it out. "There's only a couple of us. We're just a small group, but- oh shit. You're bleeding."

The warm taste of blood touches my mouth before I can even register what he's said. My hand immediately goes to my nose but Akira's fingers bump mine, pressing a tissue to the evident stream of red. I blink again and he smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry", he keeps dabbing the tissue at my nose, wiping the blood away from my mouth and folding the tissue over, pressing it down again. "Are you sensitive to the cold? I used to get nosebleeds all the time when I was younger because of how cold it would get in winter. Though, no offense, your nose does look a little jacked. Did you have a fall or something?"

"I- uh-"

I can't breathe. I can't think. He smells like mint and I can hear his clothes rustle. I drop my hand away from my face.

"I had a fall, yeah", the recovery is bad. "I thought it stopped bleeding though, guess I was wrong."

He squints at me through his glasses. I don't know if they're fake.

"Maybe. Do you feel nauseous? We can go sit down until the others get here. I know a place."

Too often, I get caught up within interactions. Social norms confuse me and I get an ache. When I first met Ann, we'd made out for thirty minutes before she asked me why I'd even initiated it, not that she didn't enjoy it. With teachers, I'd get even more confused and would offer anything to get something right. It was just how things were, disapproving or not. Some things in life would try to disprove you- that's what the woman on the television would say.

I want to get on my knees and suck on Akira's dick until he's bright pink, flushed and unruly. Just like me.

"I'm okay", I mumble quickly and reach up, pulling his hand away with a cracking smile. "Fresh air will help, anyway."

"I know a good doctor", Akira doesn't step away and I'm too conscious of my breathing. He squints and I want to scream at him- _I'm not something for him to solve. I'm not something for anyone to solve._ I want to go back to sleep. I'm being choked by my scarf. "She won't say anything if that's what you're worried about, Akechi." He's right about the nausea.

I am so far past exhaustion and have this kind of inexplicable urge to throw myself into the next section of oncoming traffic. I hunch in on myself and wince, tilting my head up at Akira.

"What about the others?", I ask, and he smiles. He smiles a lot. I wonder if that's just the kind of person he is or if he, too, is trying to make up for something others can't give or what he can't get.

"I'll shoot Ann a text, they'll understand." He pockets the tissue and opens his umbrella again. He offers me his arm. "I have the feeling you'd rather be at home than out here, anyway."

I laugh lightly and slot my hand around the crook of his elbow, tucking under the umbrella with him as we walked out into fresh rain. "How could you tell?"

"Like I said before", his eyes glint playfully. "You kind of look like crap. Does anything else hurt?"

"Just my ribs", I itch at my neck. "I'm sorry this is probably ruining your day."

"You're not ruining my day", Akira replies immediately, and I recognise the direction he's taking us. "If anything, I get to know you better without Yusuke breathing down your neck." I smile bemusedly.

"Why would he be doing that?"

Akira shrugs and lets me go, pulling the umbrella down as we approached a familiar set of buildings. "He likes drawing pretty people. We're here."

Tae's clinic.

"I've been here before", I tell him and he makes a kind of acknowledging noise.

"That makes it easier. Need a hand up the stairs?"

"What?", he holds his arm out again, "No, I'm-"

"You're kind of limping", he raises his eyebrows. "Come on, Takemi will be thrilled to have two teenage boys rock up at her place at half past nine in the morning."

Tae rolls her eyes almost immediately.

"Firstly, I haven't even had my coffee", she's barefoot walking around the examination room, hair pinned back messily as she sends us a cutting glare. "Secondly, this better not have one of Shido's officials breathing down my neck. Capiche?"

Akira gives me a questioning look and I twist away from him when Tae brings out bandages.

"Who's Shido?"

"My guardian", I reply quickly, "and don't worry, Tae, this has nothing to do with him. I just fell over last night."

"Sure", she starts soaking small swabs in antiseptic wipes. "You know what he's like when it comes to this stuff- he's going to be on my ass if he finds out you went to me instead of his GP. The guy likes to keep tabs on you."

"Can we not right now?", I wince as I pull off my sweater and she waves her hand carelessly, unrolling a set of tape.

"Just reminding you", she lifts the side of my shirt, "Your ribs look bruised, can you lift your arms?"

It's painful but I can. I feel Akira watching me and I shiver. My scarf is still around my neck and Tae makes a _tch_ sound, swinging it over my shoulder and letting go, grabbing a small tub of ointment and the bandages. "You're lucky I even decided to show up today."

"We'll be forever thankful", Akira grins and she shoots him a sharp glare. Blood curdles in my stomach and I can still feel a sickening wash of it in my mouth.

"Don't think I've forgotten about what you did last week, guinea pig."

"What did he do last week?", I ask curiously but Akira quickly cuts in.

"How's he doing? Nothing broken?"

Tae sighs as she works. Her red nails are chipped and her cuticles look torn. I wince when she tightens the bandage.

"I'll prescribe some painkillers but he should be fine. You should take some time off work, though", the pin pinches me and I yelp, slapping her away. She only smirks.

"You're ridiculous", I tell her and she waves her hand dismissively, rifling through a medical cabinet.

"Get the Ambitropin I sent you?" The sleeping pills Shido's grunt brought over, I think. I took too many.

"Yeah", I reply lamely. "Thanks."

"Welcome. Now both of you, out", she shoves a small bag at Akira, "I don't want to see you in here again unless you're volunteering or dying."

"Thanks for taking care of him." Akira flashes that smile again and Tae rolls her eyes again as she leaves, clicking the door shut with a clinical snap. Self-consciously, I hold my arms close to me and his eyes linger. He tilts his head then reaches for my sweater.

"Here", oh, "Lift your arms." _Oh._

Carefully, he slides the green fabric past my hands and over my shoulders, tugging it down to my waist and pulling my scarf back around. His eyes are sparkly and chew on the inside of my mouth. He's nice.

"Done. Let's go."

His hands are rough but immediately warm when the chill of outdoors slides through our clothes. His footsteps are fiercely unnoticeable in the cold and I wince as we walk, the sharp pains in my abdomen only becoming more apparent. We turn through a back alley and I start to slow down.

"Wait-", I drag us to a stop and he looks back at me quizzically. "Where are we going? I- we _cancelled_ on Ann and the others."

Logically, we could meet up with them anyway. Ann would insist and would even go as far as to meet us anywhere we were. I'm sure of it- but he smiles, and it's shy and small and his fingers tighten in mine. I can feel everything he is feeling. He's a loser who cuffs his fucking jeans.

"I thought we could maybe go to Leblanc and just hang out, or whatever. I'll make you something nice this time. Promise."

His cheeks are a little pink. I like that until I realise I need to reply. Flirting is a negotiation. Someone indicates interest in obtaining something from the other person ( _time, time, time_ ). One, on receiving the offer either via visual cues, eye contact, simple words or direct request, must weigh whether it's worthy of their attention and to what extent.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles a little more confidently.

"Akechi?"

"Okay", I reply far too quickly. "Yes. I'd like that."

"Me too", he muses.

The walk to Leblanc is quick and I'm aware of the itch of bandages under my shirt as he pulls the door open for me (they rub uncomfortably. I'll more than likely rip them off later tonight.) He gestures for me to take a seat and smoothly moves behind the counter. It's quiet and nice. I wonder briefly why Sojiro closed up today.

"Are you hot?", my leg squeaks against the leather as I sit down and Akira gestures around his neck. "It was a bit of a walk, feel free to relax."

My leg kicks involuntarily.

"I'm okay", I reply tersely and he looks away, pouring sizzling water into two mugs that look more worn than the cafés usual.

"I won't judge."

I think Leblanc is safe to me because of the glass.

In something that resembles the skylight at Palau de la Música Catalana (if only in feeling), the soft colours that touch each surface make me want to close my eyes and fall asleep- they make me aware of each time my eyelashes touch my cheeks.

I slide the scarf off, and let it sit on the stool beside me. Akira picks up both of the mugs and brings them around, placing one in front of me and taking a seat. Our knees bump. I let out a soft laugh.

"I didn't realise Sojiro had hot chocolate."

"He doesn't", Akira's foot swings between us. "I hid some under the sink. Don't tell a soul."

My lips twitch. "Promise."

There's a comfortable silence and the distance is... appreciated. His ankle bumps mine. The hot chocolate is sweet.

"What do you think of Tokyo?", I ask eventually. "I don't think I've ever asked- I've been meaning to."

Akira smiles a little painfully, the collar of his jacket barely touching his chin.

"I don't know", he replies honestly. Or what I hope is honestly. "It makes me feel a bit sick."

"Sick?"

Clumps of sugar remain at the bottom of the mug. Granulated and unwilling to melt. I welcome it. I remember it.

"It's not good when it should be good", he continues, wincing at his own words. "I mean, I don't know. There's a lot of suffering, but no justice."

"Oh." I wonder if the reptiles would want a chance at taking me. My... cognitive, self would surely throw me from the edge of a cliff if it meant I felt something at all.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Too long", I reply, shooting him what I hope is a playful smile. "You said you were staying the year?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I am."

"Why?"

"Some legal stuff", I hear his teeth clack against the rim of the mug. "I'm happy, though. You look tired, have you been sleeping?"

I blink at the change of pace and stutter.

"I- yes, just... work. Work's piling up."

"You never told me what you work as."

"It's desk stuff", I bring the mug to my face, "Nothing worthwhile."

"What", Akira smiles lopsidely, "are you a detective?" I let out an unattractive snort and shake my head.

"Personal accountant, more like. I'm not smart enough for police work."

"Shame", god, he smells nice, "would have got you points in my book."

"What", I mock, "being a detective?"

"Yeah. Super sexy."

There's a potential here that my brain wants to ignore. I laugh (but it sounds so fucking forced) and feel his eyes on me as I stare into the mug. He avoids asking about the bruises on my neck and I'm grateful.

"No", he says belatedly, "I don't see you as a detective either. Maybe a side cop, though, gathering intel and stuff like that famous detective in Inaba."

I raise an eyebrow. "Who?" He looks surprised.

"Blue hair? Helped solve a bunch of murders? Apparently she's in the city right now, some group is trying to pull a Julian Assange. Some kinda justice complex?"

"Really?", I ask and he nods, swinging lightly in the stool.

"Yeah."

"That... that seems a bit stupid."

"What do you mean?" I feel my neck flush

"I don't know- it's presumptuous of me, I'm not educated on the subject-"

"Say it", Akira cuts in. I blink.

"If justice had any credibility, wouldn't _everyone_ be helped? It's why less and less people believe in God as time passes, too. He doesn't judge those who are evil. If this group truly exists and claim some kind of patronage over justice... then they don't do much more than the police, or anyone out there. God, fate. Whatever."

I cringe almost immediately.

"Sorry, I've-"

 _"No, no, no"_ , Akira rushes, leaning forward, "that's probably the most I've heard you talk at once." I wince.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise, I wanna hear your views on things."

"Why?" He laughs in disbelief.

"If we're gonna be friends, I want to know everything. What you hate, what you like, your views- the whole nine. Plus, Mona likes you. That's rare enough."

"Oh?", I grin, "I guess I'll tell you that I hate your coffee now, then."

"I knew it."

"It's just... very bitter."

He tilts his head. "You like sweet things?"

"I like things that don't suck all of the feeling in my mouth out." He whistles lowly.

"Wow, harsh Akechi."

Our... our shoulders are almost bumping. His arm is slumped around the back of my seat.

"Goro", I decide quickly. "Just- you can call me Goro."

He smiles. If I'm honest, it is so _so_ beautiful.

"Goro", he repeats.

I like him a lot.

 

* * *

 

 

 _They were going to bury her, but she still looked as fresh as a living person, and still had her beautiful red cheeks._  
_They said, "We cannot bury her in the black earth," and they had a transparent glass coffin made, so she could be seen from all sides. They laid her inside, and with golden letters wrote on it her name, and that she was a princess. Then they put the coffin outside on a mountain, and one of them always stayed with it and watched over her. The animals too came and mourned for Snow-white, first an owl, then a raven, and finally a dove._

I think... I think I do not have the capacity to even think. But then I scream. I hear myself scream and I don't stop screaming. The glass coffin around me quickly blackens with smoke and the fire crackles with another surge through where by back lays. I cry out, I reach out, but the glass singes my fingertips. A mixture of tears, snot and ash mix on my cheeks and blisters quickly grow on my body, living long enough to pop painfully. I sob childishly. I kick out. Yellow eyes stare down at me: God or something more.

"How are you feeling?", my clone asks, and the pain washes through pain like throbbing whiteness. Nothingness. I open my mouth and all that comes out are strings of spit and blood. "I'm not feeling that well", it traces it's nail on the glass. I think, I think it's dressed in orange. _How isn't it burning from the glass?_ I choke on my own spit. My hair gives off a disgusting smell and the fire licks my ears.

"He was supposed to take care of us", my clones face scrunches. "Nobody took care of us."

The higher I scream the more intense the flames become. The clone smashes its fist against the glass angrily, spitting with a muted caricature of anger.

 _"Shut up! Shut up!_ The first time he fucked us, _did you even like that?!"_ , a resounding crack splinters against my bleeding ears. " _How old were you?!_ How old were you when she-"

Mona stares at me through my window. I blink tiredly, feeling sweat prickle my shoulders and my heart slowly rest. He scratches against the glass again and I sit up, swinging my feet over the bed and shivering.

My legs are cold. There are no burns.

I wipe my eyes quickly and slide open the latch, watching Mona hop into the room and shake his fur out on my desk. I frown and pick the cat up, the little bell on his collar jingles.

"What are you doing here?", I ask him, brushing the dirt from his head. "You look filthy. Did Akira let you wander off? You've got to be more careful, you might get hurt."

For a moment, my feet burn. My balance stutters and Mona yowls, rubbing his face against my hand. I close eyes. The wind from outside brushes my thighs.

"How did you even know where I live?", I ask the cat eventually, holding him out at an arms length. "You're like a little spy. Are you hungry? Would you like to spend the night? I could use the company."

He meows twice and I wince out a smile, tucking the cat under my arm I walk us out to the kitchen. "I'm not sure what cats eat, but you like sushi, don't you? I've got leftovers."

Mona meows in my face.

"I'll take that as a yes."

My hair is curled out and wet from a few hours ago and I set Mona on the counter, tieing it back easily and letting out a long breath. A headache starts to grow like a fortified perimeter around my head and the soles of my feet twist on the tile floor: nerves slowly leaving my legs. Mona blinks up at me with shiny blue eyes.

Like some kind of cosmic joke, the landline rings.

It's a tone I recognise and the headache throbs between my eyes. I fumble with the phone in my hands before answering, my head ducking down as I turn away from the cat on my counter.

"Yes?"

_"How are you feeling, Goro?"_

More than anything, more than anything, I want to rip out the veins in my wrists with a plastic fucking fork.

"I'm doing fine", I pinch my nose, I think about lakes and the ocean and the sky. I think about Ann's perfume, Tae's care despite everything, Sojiro ruffling my fringe. Anything to keep the fire at bay. "How are you?"

 _"I'm having a car pick you up on Wednesday night"_ , he cuts through the stream, _"I don't want you going out alone."_

"I'm okay, really", I fiddle with some peeling paint on the counter, "and, ah, Takemi-san said there was a package for you at her clinic. Would you like me to-?"

 _"You were at the clinic?"_ , take the blame, _"Why?"_

"My friend", my eyes squeeze shut, "my friend was sick. I took him there."

_"A friend?"_

"Yes."

Can he see me now? Sometimes I feel like there's cameras in the apartment. He owns it, so I'm not sure I can put it past him. I listen to our breathing.

 _"I'll have someone pick up the package"_ , he says eventually. _"Stay home. I don't want you wandering and getting hurt, understand?"_

I slide my hand over to Mona, scratching his chin much to the cats own delight."Okay."

Hearing the phone dial out leaves me anxious. He's mad, I can tell. I don't want him to be mad but he is ( _at me or someone else I can't tell but that doesn't matter because no matter what I'm going to get the brunt of it it is my problem to fix he just needs to-_ )

I breathe shakily into my arms, slumping against the sink. Mona tiptoes around the silver metal and nudges his head against me.

"Sorry", I mumble. "Sorry. Sorry. I don't- I wasn't expecting an audience. I can't let myself get so worked up otherwise-", I abruptly stand, Mona's tail flicking at the sharp movement. "How about that sushi, huh? I'll cut it up for you."

As I bring out the knife a lethargy creeps over me, a heaviness hunching my shoulders and a pulsing growing behind my eyes. My knees bump against the counter and I breathe. I picture a castle and walk my way through it: I ignore all the doors. I follow the hallway, focus on the red carpet. It's so easy to get lost and the light under the doors can be so tempting.

I open my eyes. Mona blinks back at me, as if he knew where I'd been.

"Sorry", I say to nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

"Not well, that much I can tell. I'm a kid, not an idiot. Yeah. _Yeah_ , well check."

The bell rings as I close the door and Mona squirms in my arms. Akira twists his head around and spots me, then Mona. He rolls his eyes at the cat and juts his thumbs towards the stairs. I take the hint and pass an elderly couple on my way up to his room, they seem engrossed in their game of chess.

His bed is unmade and one of the pillows is propped up closer to the window. I drop Mona by the couch and pick up a book from the floor.  Palahniuk.

"Sorry", Akira says, footsteps quick and apron beginning to loosen around his neck. "Boss doesn't like Mona downstairs when people are here."

I shrug and put the book down, clasping my hands in front of me. "It's fine. Did you know he was missing?"

Akira scoffs and walks closer, leaning to pat Mona as the feline jumped up onto the coffee table.

"Yeah. I take it you two had a sleepover?"

"Something like that", my grin twists. "He found out where I lived and robbed me of all my fatty tuna. A crime, no less."

"Better you than me", he twists his fringe between his fingers, "he eats half my pay check."

"Sojiro pays you?"

"Oh no", Akira shakes his head. "I have, like, four jobs."

"What?"

"Yeah."

He's like sixteen.

"Where?"

He starts to count on his fingers.

"A flower shop, some convenience store, my friends pawn shop and this other place."

"What, a bar?", I joke and Akira doesn't react. My resolve hardens. "Akira."

"I _don't drink_ ", he stresses. "I leave that to Ryuji after exam week. You wouldn't believe the shit he texts me- the guy never stops. The owner is really motherly and sweet. I just clean for her, really, and talk to this reporter lady that is seemingly always a foot closer to alcohol poisoning."

I'm shocked and a little amused.

" _You're_ friends with Lala Escargot?"

Akira's eyebrows raise.

"You know the place?"

"Shido owns a block near there", I glance away, "You're right, though. She's lovely."

Akira grins suddenly and leans into my space. Our feet bump.

" _You're_ friends with Lala Escargot?" I punch him in the arm with complaint.

"Shut up-"

"Did you _seriously_ leave the Tanaka's downstairs _alone_ in the middle of chess?", Sojiro's voice cuts through the room and we both turn. He blinks, surprised to see me. "You look terrible, kid."

"I'm alright", I insist and Akira steps forward, shoulder blocking me slightly.

"He found Mona last night and was just dropping him off. Apparently."

"What do you mean _apparently?_ ", I ask and he casts a look back at me.

"You have an affinity for cats. I don't know what to believe."

"I-"

"Have your quarrel later", Sojiro huffs, crossing his arms. "Do you need a lift anywhere, Akechi?"

"He's staying the night", Akira bounces on the balls of his feet. "We're going to braid each other's hair and all that manly shit."

"Language", Sojiro points at the student before glancing at me. "You sure you want to spend more than an hour with this guy?"

My smile twitches and I rub my elbow.

"I'm sure I'll survive. I'll give you a call if I need help." Sojiro narrows his eyes but nods.

"Alright, but downstairs _now_. The both of you. You're still working", he points at Akira, "and you need a meal in you", he wiggles a finger at me. When he leaves Akira bumps his shoulder to mine, sweet and giggly.

"You're a thorn in his side", I tell him. He only grins wider.

"Yeah, maybe."

Watching Akira and Sojiro work proves to be more than amusing. Between the squabbling couple in the corner and Akira dumping half a jar of honey into the curry (to Sojiro's very vocal dismay), time passes so quickly that I barely have enough time to yawn when Sojiro's hand clasps over my shoulder.

"You two have fun", he says, fixing his hat on his head. "Good work today, Akira."

Akira sends him a wave from the kitchen and Mona meows beside me. The elder man shakes his head (barely hiding the smile that I know is there) and leaves, flipping the sign to closed.

Akira exits the kitchen apron-less and smiling contentedly.

"Sorry if today was boring. You don't actually have to sleep over if you don't want to- I probably should have said that a lot earlier." I shake my head.

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't want to stay." It scares me how much I want to stay. Akira's eyes sparkle.

"Come on, I'll let you borrow some clothes."

I've never had sleepovers. Tutelage from home meant I never really had the chance to meet any kids my age. I don't know how to act.

Akira hands me a large turtleneck and some slouching pants that look too big for the both of us. He goes to pull off his shirt and I spin quickly, knee hitting the coffee table and moving it back half an inch. He chuckles good-naturedly from behind me.

"You okay?" No, I almost spit. Hair is rising on my neck and I'm going to have a bruise on my leg in forty eight hourd the shape of something you own- but I swallow and nod, working myself out of my clothes.

"Yeah."

His blinds are halfway shut, unlike mine. I can barely notice the blue glow of Takemi's clinic but the noises are louder, here. Street corner shops. Violins. Scooters that shouldn't be awake past 6 PM. I glance at the T.V. screen and his reflection moves carefully; his back is spotless and the ridges of his spine just barely pop out. His hips are small. There's a birthmark on his left shoulder in the indistinguishable shape of a bird.

"Do you know the book?"

My head shoots up and he's smiling (does he _do_ anything else?). A light tank top hangs off of his frame and pants similar to mine bunch around his waist.

"What?"

He steps forward and picks up the purple book from the coffee table, weighing it in his hands. "You were looking at it earlier. Have you read it?"

"No, but I recognise the author."

Akira nods to himself and puts the book back down. In my periphery, Mona makes himself comfortable on the couch. "He's good, _definitely_ not great. All of his characters are, like, swept up in the same nihilism and self-defeating purpose. It can get repetitive."

"You seem to like it." His eyes wrinkle.

"I do. Give _Invisible Monsters_ a read when you can; it's one of my favourites."

He moves towards the bed and I dig my fingers into the oversized sleeves trapping my arms.

"I will."

Usually people smile after a bad day. A bit broken, a little fucked, but glad it's all over or glad they have the choice to end it.

He steals a smile like Doris Payne. I wonder why he thinks he's running out of time.

 _Save them for later_ , I want to whisper.

"Want to come under the covers so I can impress you more with my literary knowledge?"

 _I_ steal a smile, albeit nervous and amateur.

"Why does a part of me think you got it all from reading _book reviews_ online."

He squints from behind white covers.

"You may have a point."

I slide in beside him, trying not to take up too much room. Akira smells sweet. I think about correction tape and I think about me; the longer I live the more hollow I become.

I want to warn Akira that I've been rewound far too many times to be enjoyable. All my bits have been refixed and replaced.

He leans on his side with his chin in his palm, his elbow digging into the pillow. My eyes flick to his other hand, his fingertips bouncing off of each other like he can play the piano in his head. Like when he opens his mouth, music will come out.

"You look nice", it's quiet and genuine from him. The glow of the lamp makes me want to wipe the light from his face with the pad of my thumb but he swallows audibly. "I've never really looked nice in that. Suits you."

I laugh sheepishly. "I try not to wear things with such a high neck- my hair feels too long for it."

"Can I-"

He reaches out and threads my hair behind my ear. I want to sink my teeth into his thigh- I think he'd taste of clementines. His fingers curl near my jaw. His nail scrapes a bruise. I care about this moment. He doesn't look me in the eye.

"I feel like I know you", he tells me eventually, thumb tracing the angle of my jaw. "That sounds dumb."

"You ask me questions all the time."

"I _do_ ", he agrees, finally looking up. "Do you mind?"

At some point, our voices have dropped to a whisper. _Carry me on your shoulders,_ I think, closing my eyes. _Take me wherever you go. I want to be with you desperately or not at all._ You are my escape route.

"Sometimes", I admit softly. "But... I feel like it's-"

"You like it?", he tries and I blush, nodding. I watch the light shift inside my eyelids. I feel him twist his head down to my pillow, ignoring the one now squished in the corner. "Good, I do too. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

"Why are you trying so hard?"

I open my eyes to see his reaction but am immediately drawn to the flutter of his eyelashes. The dent in his nose where his glasses sit. He looks vulnerable and young and, glancing down, he pulls his hand away from my neck and takes my hand.

Clasping it, he brings my knuckles to his lips. Just once.

"Is that okay?"  _God_ , I think like cracking eggshells under the soles of my feet,  _what did you do to him to make him so fucking gentle?_

"Yeah", I croak.

 

* * *

 

 

Perceptions of time can vary according to our focus. Time can seem to move very slowly when we are absorbed in something that we enjoy, but it can also seem to move by in an instant. It's about manipulating something in your perception which is essentially an escape from the perception of your senses. The sense of that could be what is called a _catching up into a consciousness that is not of this world_. Or at least that's what she said.

Time passes too slowly as I wait in his office again. Nothing changes, nothing falls out of place except... except this time he's changed the colour of the curtains.

They're salmon pink.

I can only think that this lifestyle between us has been upheld by habit and guilt. I can only assume what he feels is something like relief. Relief.

( _I don't feel like smoking. I don't feel like putting another tape in. I don't feel like drinking myself into an incapacitated state because I still have to perform. I have to consent. I have to whimper when he wants me to and make my thigh clench in that way he likes_ ). I glare at the empty screens. Desperately, I want to be her. Beautiful and tragically caught in the past. Her words always shape the right path.

Relief, I think quickly. Relief. He enters the office with the stumbling efforts of a toddler but upholds the sharp nuance of a predator. I wince when he tears at his tie, pulling at his own clothes as if they threaten to suffocate him.

I know the feeling.

"Tell me what's wrong", I say, because I can fix it. Whatever it is, I can spread my legs and make it go away. He sweeps his hand over the desk and glass shatters. I flinch.

"That fucking _group_ ", he spits, poise unravelling too quickly and easily. "They think they can change how things are meant to be. They think they can fucking _take_ what was mine to begin with-"

As he shoves the chair I'm in and yanks the top drawer open, I close my eyes. _Relief._ Whatever is happening outside, whatever is erupting inside, he is stopping it by acting. He hits for the same reason children do: he is overwhelmed and needs to make it stop. Feelings drown him and he has to act, do something, get some control and make it stop. The gunshot lingers in the air and creates a small spark as it lodges in the T.V. My chin trembles. My ears ring. He is terrified and in pain. Empathise. Relieve him. He doesn't know how to cope so _fix him._

"Hackers", he states belatedly, lowering the gun away from my face before snarling and casting it aside. "They intend to release false information. Disturbing information."

"Can I do anything for you?" _Do you want me to put on that dress?_

He cuts into me so simply with words that teachers use on students. Words that mothers reprimand with.

"Come here."

I am an unreliable, wavering sack of _shit_. I kneel on the ground in front of him and think, loud enough for God to ignore, _can this be undone?_ I think you've chosen life wrong. I want peace. I don't think this is it.

Is this, _neglect?_

"I want you safe", he starts lowly, reaching down and tugging my chin up: his thumb on my bottom lip. "I want you _safe._ These people could be dangerous, Goro. Do you understand?"

My mouth is dry.

"Yes."

Slowly and deliberately, he traces my gums. He tests the sharpness of my teeth and goes lax on my tongue: an unheard command forces itself into my stomach and he whispers.

"Go on."

My brain throbs. I want to say; _this is my two week notice._ I want to say; _watch me kill myself after this._

Saliva glosses my lips. Makes them sticky.

It's okay. It's okay.

His phone ringing cuts through the air and I am discarded as easily as trash. He answers irritabily, wiping his hand on his suit jacket.

" _What?_ ", he snaps. "No. What? You fucking tell him-", his hand flicks violently towards me, "Goro, _out._ Go home."

Lions usually hunt at night. Their prey includes antelopes, buffaloes, zebras, young elephants, rhinos, hippos, wild hogs, crocodiles and giraffes. But they also sometimes eat smaller prey like mice, birds, hares, lizards, and tortoises. Birds. He likes birds.

_"OUT. NOW."_

Lions act like scavengers and often attack hyenas and steal their prey. During one meal, lions can eat up to 40 pounds of meat. Lions back teeth are called carnassals and they work like a pair of scissors. They tear through flesh.

 _Why do I do anything? Why have I continued to breathe?_ My clothes rustle around me and only drag me further to the floor. My footsteps are loud and anxious in the amber streets of Yongen-Jaya. I miss that sense of normality, that forgetfulness. Work. Lunch with Ann. Shido. Work. Shido. Visit Sojiro. Pick up Ann. _Shido._

Why can't my brain just fucking accept that some people just live life the way their body was meant to? I was meant for this. _I was meant for this._

I mean nothing if I can't do this for him.

I'm tired and there's no scarf hiding my neck, now. Leblanc looks quiet in the street, like a lone backpacker not really wanting the attention of a ride home.

I hold back a wretched noise in my mouth, gripping either side of the door shakily. I knock before I let myself run. I knock twice. It gets so hard to breathe, sometimes.

Lethargy will one day kill me.

The light upstairs flicks on and I wince, listening to the audible steps and murmurs. The cafés lights make me jump and remind me all too well of an interrogation scene. Akira stares at me a distance away. I'm caught up in the look he gives me; it is something quiet and intimate. His sweater hangs over his collarbone and I want to put my cheek there. I'm breathing too fast. It takes him six steps and two locked latches to swing open the door, and I fall into him.

His waist is smaller than I thought it'd be, and his arms immediately secure around my shoulders and back. I want to cry because he feels so warm. Did I wake him? I like the way he treats me, and I can't help but seek it. I want to know his favourite colour. I want his soul to know mine.

"Goro", he says gently, and with a hand on my cheek he pulls back, scanning my face quickly. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

I want to cry. I feel young and confused and want a parent to tell me which way is left and which option is right. I want a fresh perspective. I want to know why I wasn't good enough tonight.

"I-", tears prickle my eyes. I can smell his toothpaste. "Could I stay the night? Please, I- I don't want to go home and- and I need-"

"You don't need to explain yourself."

I need someone to teach me how to swim.

There's a lingering smell of coffee when he sits me on one of the stools and I let it hold me for a second. He goes around the counter and reaches for a mug.

"I'm sorry I woke you." Akira shakes his head.

"I wasn't sleeping. Jasmine or green?"

"Jasmine."

He works slowly, nails scraping everything going as far as to twirl a spoonful of honey in my drink. For the first time I've noticed, he looks gaunt, and his lashes only enhance the barest of bags under his eyes. He still glows, though. A necklace in the light, nothing like the magnifying glasses.

"What was your childhood like?", I whisper. I think nostalgia bubbles in his chest (not butterflies, but not dread). He squints at me. I want to see what he is seeing. How does he fold his towels? How many times does he tie his shoelaces? He sets the mug in front of me.

"Bad."

Maybe I'm just smelling the tea again. He has bags under his eyes that I'm not sure are from studies. Maybe he has dreams like mine, maybe he struggles to grapple against molten amber, climbing a precipice he doesn't yet understand or see.

"Do you try forgetting it?", my voice cracks. I crack. He closes his eyes for a moment. I am chipping and he is healing. Does he like Monet's lillies or is his preference Hopper's overwhelming loneliness?

"It's not about forgetting it", he opens his eyes, "It's about processing it enough that you stop attatching pain to it."

What would he say if he were having sex? Would he see my body and know immediately that whatever between us would be run by Shido's teachings in my legs ( _my arms, my hands, my mouth_ )? Or would he be the same? Ann was a good kisser. Maybe. Maybe.

"You want to forget it because it hurts, don't you?", my eyes snap back to him and he gestures vaguely. "Whatever happened?"

"That pain is _yours_ ", he pieces together his words how I imagine someone would piece together terrible thoughts, "You can't just blame memory. Memories are just triggers. You can't lose control or let it build because then you're letting it _own_ that pain. You've got to let yourself feel. Observe it and try to understand that, no matter what you've done, we're all flawed. We all get what we give out in the end. No one is perfect but people who hurt or have hurt people are always acting from pain and fear. All you can do is take care of yourself for all the times you couldn't."

He covers my hand with his own like it's not something completely disgusting. He curls our fingers together over the counter and I hold back. I whisper.

"Did... did Ann tell you? About me?"

And he looks at me with pity. With fucking pity.

"I'm in your corner", his nails are short and blunt. He squeezes. "You should be able to look back on the memories of your family and not have a panic attack in the middle of the night. I'm going to be here if you'll let me, and I'll still be here if you decide you don't want me to be." His eye is critical. "I'm sorry. Have I overstepped?"

 _Yes_ , my brain wheezes. _Yes. Let me cut my throat in the bathroom. Let me use your school suspenders to hang myself in your closet. Use your belt to tie me down._

"No", I choke out. "No. You're okay."

"I care." He says it so tenderly. "I hope you know that." I laugh, dropping my head into my free hand and hiding my face with my hair. This is all fucked up. 

"You barely know me, Akira." _Please say it again._

"Then let Sojiro care", he speaks without hesitation. "Let someone care that isn't- that isn't _him_."

Nostalgia hits me with the unwavering slap of sensory overload. My other hand comes to my face and Akira is a _liar._ Akira is a  _snake_ and a  _demon_ and I should ignore him and cross the street. I should ignore him and cross the street. There are acid burns on my hand from where he was. He dissects me.

"I'm right, aren't I?" 

Shido had a way of stealing a room's presence. In a five-star hotel, you'd only ever be looking at his shoes. 

"He-", I gag. I almost gag. "He _cares_. He's the only one I've ever had."

"How old were you when he took you in?" The thought of vomiting makes me sweat and choke. My ribs ache at the pinching in my stomach.

"Five. Five. My mother died and the next day he was my guardian. He didn't mention her again. He's _never_ mentioned her. I-"

Bile rises in my throat and I cough noisily, my forehead hitting the counter and Akira's cold hand cooling the burning on my neck. My fingers itch to rip out my hair, to scab my skin and to shove down my throat if it means I can get this all over with. I want his bitter coffee and I want my bed. I don't even like my bed. I want his bed.

"He was meant to parent you", Akira's voice is far enough to not be claustrophobic but I still feel the anxiety crawl in my toes. "He was meant to help you grow into your own skin, not take that chance away." I am four and rolling down the hills near our house and the grass itches but it glows. Oh, it glows.

"She did it too", her laugh is in my ears, "I thought that was how things were meant to be", her smile is shiny and new, "I've been having these dreams lately and I keep questioning everything and everyone keeps telling me-"

She calls my name, but I am somewhere above the clouds. I am fighting dragons. I am piling dirt into my shoes so at least some part of me stays grounded.

"I don't know what's right anymore", I blink up at him wearily, his hand slides away. Over his shoulder, I can see my clammy features in the glass. "He got so mad at me the other day and he's never been that mad. I was so-... Akira, I was so _scared_."

"Breathe", he reminds me softly. My fingers tighten against my chest and my own sweat stings my eyes. It's like in _Alien_ \- except I hope something rips out of my chest and I die 

"I'm sorry", I wheeze.

"You have trauma."

"Apparently."

"That doesn't make you any less of a person, though."

"I've seen you before." I say it before I can stop myself. I can smell cars and Ann's perfume. I can smell the detangler I used in her hair and I can feel my fingers weave through a braid. "I saw you in an alleyway by your school. You were talking to someone. His mom got hit."

For once, shock twitches the muscles in Akira's face. Without his glasses, it's easier to see what he tries to hide. He looks so young.

"Why was your childhood bad?", I ask quietly.

At my words, his fingers itch over his knuckles and scrape the raised skin there. He stands with a slant to his hips- an expectancy.

"I was bulimic for a few years", he states plainly, leaning away from me and keeping his hands to his front. "It's really not a big deal, my parents just reacted badly."

"How bad?"

"My dad gave me a concussion", he tilts his head, scanning my face for a response. "He beat me while my mom sat and watched."

"She watched?"

"Eating disorders are for _girls_ ", he drawls, then winces, cracking a painful smile. "I'm over it now, I've learnt all I can from that."

"Is that why they sent you here?"

"What?", he shakes his head, "No. That was because I tried stopping some guy who was harassing this lady in the middle of the night. Apparently he's big in politics and twisted everything around to make himself the victim", Akira scoffs and unfolds his hands, leaning back against the cabinet. "Called me a ' _threat to society'_."

I frown. "I'm sorry." He shakes his head again.

"Don't be. I wouldn't change my decisions now even if I could. How are you feeling?"

 _Distant_ , comes to mind. Confused. I feel empathy for Akira and I wish I could make it all better.

"Sick", I decide. "I don't know what to think."

Leblanc is usually warm and gentle. Like... like the painting in the corner. I double-take. It's new.

"Did you ever know your dad?", Akira's voice cuts through to me and I find it hard to drag my eyes away from the painting. He has her quiet comfort.

"No", I reply finally. "I don't have any memory of him or any pictures. All I know is that my mom didn't want him in my life. I suppose..."

I look at the painting again.

"What?"

"I mean-", my throat closes on me again, "Shido _technically_ adopted me. He's the closest thing to a father I'll ever get and-"

"Have you ever wanted to have sex with him? _Ever?_ "

My heart has whiplash.

"No." _No. No. No. No._

The world isn't closing in on me, it's widening. There is so much empty air in the room that I'm taking in too much- I think my lungs are going to pop. My ears are burning. Who is talking? My socks dig into my ankles.

"I'm not trying to dictate what you think and I'm not trying to control you, but what Shido does to you? Goro that isn't normal. It's not _okay_ either."

"He hits me sometimes", I blurt, "and he says I like it but I don't and it makes me want to die. Oh god, Akira. I want to _die._ He makes me want to kill myself every time I see him and I was supposed to be with him tonight and he- he shot a _gun_ at me. He shot a gun at me and it's nothing new but it was so _close_ and I- I'm going to be sick-"

I wonder if the teenager has a map to my inner workings. He is beside me quickly and pulling the seat around, hands splayed on my back and coaxing my head between my knees. He is firm and caring and has the healing properties of Sojiro's jasmine tea. My fingers shake over my ears and he squats down, holding both of my knees.

"Pain like this twists people into who they don't want to be", I must be so bothersome to him, like a child in constant need of attention, "It makes us angry, it makes us do irrational things. Call it what it is- _trauma_. Call it what he thinks- you've never said _no_ out loud. What he's done to you has twisted you into someone you don't want to be anymore. You're a factor that has been manipulated by someone who should have _responsible_ so don't ever think you were or are the cause."

"Akira-", I sob, his hands close over mine. I'm afraid my ears might bleed. "I deserve it."

He meets me halfway.

"If you kill yourself, that's it. Done. You don't know what happens after that and it's more than likely going to be nothingness. You won't even be able to register that nothingness because you won't exist-"

"What about God?", I breathe.

"-if you _kill_ yourself, you're getting rid of hopes I know you have. Even regrets and wishes equal hope. Change your name, change your hair, change everything about yourself if you _disgust_ yourself that much but don't kill yourself. If not for your sake, then don't bother at all. Think about the consequences to yourself you will be making, and don't think about others. Goro this is your choice and don't make it lightly, I beg you. Don't let him manipulate your life to its very end."

I wish fate could have drawn this differently. I wish I could have met him on a summer day (or maybe spring), and we bump into each other and he grins, his smile shining brilliantly.

He waits for me. Expectant.

I wish we could have met earlier.

 

* * *

 

 

"You are in a room with yourself."

I think I'm choking.

"What do you talk about?"

Hell. Absolute Hell. I try to murder myself because two Goro Akechi's in this world could only amount to murder.

Everything is dark around me. A sole light shines from nowhere and my body is bandaged in strips of dirty clothing.

"Do you believe in belief?"

"I don't know", I whisper. Petrification keeps me still to the ground and memory reminds me to maintain poise while on all fours. My chest twitches. This is terror. This is _terror_.

Suddenly, it's as if someone presses play.

My head shoots up in fear and a foul beast, hidden in the barren land around me gnaws at screaming flesh. Piles of bones surround it in the place of dirt and nature does not dare grow there. Shattered glass creates a winding path through pools of blood and raining acid and the sole light remains on me. Yellow eyes blink through the dark and glow through the insistence of screams. It is hot when I finally stumble to a stand, and the infamy of my clone, a seeming star of violence (dipped in blood to a point of anonymity) is uncanny to the death of God's son.

"I-"

The doppelgänger's lips snarl, causing the damp dew of a forest to flick up against my skin, ropes erupting from the dark to force me back to the ground. I cough blood, my nails digging into the sudden moss beneath me.

"You whimper on Earth", it spits, "You have no more hope and you barely know purpose- _is that such a way to live?"_

"I- no."

"No", it scoffs. "You are in the woods of the suicides, right now. Do you know what that means?"

"No-"

" _No!_ ", there is a sickening crack but the clone stops my head from moving, digging its fingers into my jaw. "I find it funny that it is now you can find the strength to say _no._ "

"I don't understand what you're trying to _do_ to me", I splutter out, "I-if you're meant to be my innermost thoughts and desires, then I don't _fucking_ understand what I desire."

It looks disgusted for a moment. Staring at me as if it had the power to make me implode.

The flakes of fire start slowly.

"What-"

Like snowflakes, fire slowly drifts from sky to ground and set the darkened forest around us alight; defeaning the screams into an empty void and leaving behind only a bare grass terrain. I breathe ash in the midst of this quiet destruction. Oh. Oh.

"Blasphemy, sodomy, and usury are all unnatural and sterile actions: thus the unbearing desert is the eternity of these sinners; and thus the rain, which in nature should be fertile and cool, descends as fire."

My attention snaps back to the clone who now sits cross-legged beside me. "You- you're saying I _desire_ punishment?" It tilts its head.

"God looks to you and you turn away. Do you not understand that you are needed to achieve his most almighty goal? You are a large price and must be paid duly. He owns you. Do not take that lightly."

"I know", I stutter, "I know but.. I _never_ agreed to this. _We_ never agreed to this, Goro." The purple in its robes reminds me of Akira's book.

"We were born", its voice cracks, "that alone is the contract of men."

"I want to leave this place", I tug at the restrains, " _Please_ , don't you?" It glances away, indulging in my own telltale sign of thinking in the way its hands move quickly, cracking knuckle after knuckle.

"Some do", it murmurs, "but would it not be better to stay how we are? At least we'd have that security."

"I don't feel like I'm living."

_"You don't think I feel the same?!"_

Silence snaps like twigs. I swallow and shake my fringe out of my eyes, I can feel the ropes become tighter.

"You're angry."

"Yes."

"You like the pain we recieve."

"We deserve it."

"We do", I'm quick to agree, "but I'd let myself go against him if only for a moment if that meant it would stop hurting so much."

"He is the only one we have."

"I know", _God_ , I know. I know but I want it to be a lie. I want to pretend I can keep leaning on Akira. On Sojiro. I want tears to be a sometimes thing and not my daily skincare routine.

"You don't know violence the way I do", its eyes are dark and red. "Against self, against others, against _God_. You step so easily around it. I've had to _live_ with it."

"Show me."

"What?" For the first time in these living nightmares, a doppelgänger is shocked. I take a breath.

"Show me. Tell me." Its face scrunches confusedly.

"I don't-"

From one of the burnt trees, a body suddenly lurches down and swings, the clone fumbles back, eyes wide in horror and lips parted in a silent scream. The woman's body rotates, her mouth foaming and her smell equivalent to vomit. I feel tears sting my eyes and I gag, digging my face into the ground as salt fills my mouth. _Oh god_ , I think. "Oh god", my clone whispers.

"Oh, good. You're up."

Mona's purring slowly tugs me out of the nightmare with the sensation of floss through clay. Akira's bed hasn't changed. A little hard, a little too soft, but it smells like him. Sojiro's footsteps are heavy up until he reaches the landing. A steaming mug is in his hand.

"Here, this might help clear your head."

I sit up and take it gratefully. There's no honey in it, but it's warm doesn't make me wince. Sojiro clears his throat and leans on the edge of the mattress, crossing his arms. He smells like smoke and I'm reminded unpleasantly of my nicotine habit.

"Akira's doing his laundry", he says finally.

"Oh." Is he looking for a reaction? Another moment passes filled with Mona's purrs before he sighs, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

"Look, I'm sure he already gave you this talk but I hope my two cents still means something as well. Your mother and father were meant to take care of you, kid. They didn't do that. I need you to understand that they don't fuckin' matter: _you_ do, and I'm here when you want the help. I'm not your dad, and I'm certainly not your mom, but you're family, Goro, and you're always welcome here."

My fingers shake around the mug.

"Thank you", I whisper. He shakes his head

"It's only the truth. Stay up here as long as you need, the cafés closed today. Akira should be back soon, do you need anything else?"

I surge forward and hug hum, the tea sloshing dangerously towards my hand. He hugs me back easily and I cling to his shirt.

"We're going to figure this out", he promises m. I think about Shido, about how I've lived with him my whole life.

And yet I've lived with Sojiro for a good half of that.

"I know", I reply and he chuckles, patting my back and pulling away. "Thank you, Sojiro."

There's a familial kindness in his eyes. "No worries, son."

He leaves and I wait until the bell rings before shoving my face into Akira's pillow. I don't know where to put my hands. I've been trying so hard and finally everything's caught up to me. _God_. I don't think I can stand it. Mona yowls and hits me- it takes me too long to answer my ringing phone.

"Hello?"

 _"Did you have fun?"_ , Shido growls. _"I can't fuck you for one night and you run off to Sakura and his little live-in, hm?"_ I squeeze my eyes shut.

"They're just-"

 _"Do you have any idea what's happening right now?"_ , he cuts in, _"What's at stake? and you're slutting yourself off to an old fuck up and a thug."_

"What? He-"

 _"Tonight a car will pick you up",_ Danger, Will Robinson!, _"You will not refuse."_

I stay in bed long after he hangs up, loosely holding the smartphone to my ear. I wish for a day. I wish for one day where I can feel something. 24-hours, fifteen of which would be spent reading inside. At night I'd walk outside and go see _La Traviata_. I'd be able to kiss like lovers kiss (without the bite) and I'd be allowed to cut my hair. I'd be allowed to live. I'm emptying my mug in the sink when four sharp knocks rattle the glass of Leblanc's door.

The woman stares at me in quiet shock.

"Goro Akechi."

Her hair is waist length and falls down her back in a strong swoop of silver. Purple eyeshadow is smudged on her lids and she holds a briefcase close to her side. I nails dig into the door.

"Sorry", I sound so young, "do I know you?"

I blink and it's behind her. Me. Another clone. The world feels suddenly tilted and my fingers slip on the handle.

"Look at the mighty one who comes", it tilts its head towards the woman, hidden in the same clothes I wear. "Who does not seem to shed a tear of pain. She keeps the image of a king-"

"May I come in?", she interrupts unknowingly and I blink, looking back at her.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"My name is Sae Nijima. I'm a prosecutor and I work with the Special Investigations Department. I know your parents."

I'm locked in a sphere where I cannot see any light. Blood sinks out from my tongue and my ankles are still wrapped in the hem of Akira's sweatpants. I begged for this. I just wanted to keep this for a moment.

"I-", I'm finding it hard to function, "Okay, come in. Sojiro isn't here, but-"

"That's fine", her heels are loud and demanding and ache my ears, "I came here to question him about you again anyway." My eyebrows furrow.

"You're the one looking for me?"

She only gestures to a booth. "May we sit? There's a lot to discuss."

"Yeah, yeah of course- ah, sit down?"

"Thank you." She slides into it easily. I am more tentative, however.

"I'm sorry, but... _how_ do you know my parents? No offense but you don't look much older than me."

"Your mother, for all her faults, was a talented lecturer and I've found myself more than once reading her studies", she unclips the briefcase, "As for your father, I worked for him for a period of time."

"My mother _lectured?_ "

Sae pauses. "Yes- you didn't know?"

Please no. "No I...", I can't swallow, "I know nothing about her. I can't even remember her face." Please _no_. Sae frowns and begins to rifle through the case. My clone sits alone on the ground between two of the stools, feet bare and head rolled back against the body of the counter. It looks tired. Empty.

"Her name was Maemi Akechi", Sae begins, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind a bobby pin seamlessly. "She was a well-reknowned psychologist and philosopher until the late nineties. Her- wait, here's her picture."

My clone sobs outwardly, hiding its face in its knees and crying. I quiver.

"That's her?" My words barely form around my breath. Sae frowns again.

"Yes, and I'm sorry if this seems out of line but I apologise for the harm she put you through. Trauma like that should never be inflicted upon a child-"

"You _know?!_ "

She looks at a loss.

"Akechi-kun, I'm afraid to be the one to tell you all of this, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but-"

"Tell me", _desperate desperate desperate_ , "I'll listen."

Sae hesitates but slides a file over to me anyway.

"Shido Masayoshi is a corrupt man. For years he has attempted to rise in the political world at his gain and the loss of others; this I'm sure you're aware of." I look at the papers but I am so scared to touch. If I touch it, it becomes real.

 _"Touch it"_ , my clone whispers with Shido's voice.

"When your mother died of an overdose", Sae continued slowly, "you may remember there was a short period where you were in the care of an orphanage. During this time, your lineage became apparent."

"What are you saying?"

"Shido Masayoshi was only able to become your guardian due to his status as your biological father."

The papers scatter over the desk, my hand clamping over my mouth in an attempt to stop myself from vomiting.

"I know this must be tough to follow-"

"You don't know _anything_ ", I cut in harshly, my breathing shuddering as Leblanc quickly became a instigator of trauma. "You don't- you don't know what he's _done_ to me, you don't-"

"I know", the words cut into my wrists. "Goro that's why I'm here and why I've been trying to find you. I'm glad you have Sojiro supporting you how he has, it is incredibly brave of him and your friends to protect you but this is a matter that _must_ be faced."

"What do you mean?"

She reminds me of the slick serpants that hide in pools of sweat and cum within the red light district. With nails long and sharp, they wait in the shadows before sliding open your veins, cleaning out your insides and hiding you behind a dumpster.

"I worked for Shido for a long time", she tells me, "long enough to find out about you and know how wrong it was. I want to stop him, and I can't do that without your help."

"You want to stop him becoming Prime Minister of Japan."

"Yes."

"You need my testimony."

"Yes."

"Are you behind the hacking group trying to expose him?"

"What?", she blinks? "No. I assumed that group was a joke."

"So did I", I admit, glancing at my clone in the corner who has all but shrivelled into a decomposing corpse. "But the last time I was with him, he was mad. He-... he wants me to go back there to him tonight. He knows about Sojiro. And my friends." _Am I part of the information they want to leak? Is that what this is?_

"Even if all of this information is leaked", Sae poises her fingers on the file, "There is no credibility for vigilante hackers in an age where anything online can be faked. I hate to be so insensitive but you are a prime victim of him and therefore the perfect testimony. I know this is difficult but-"

"What do I do?", I ask quietly, clenching my hands and teeth. "Tonight. Do I let him _fuck_ me into the desk? Do I call him _daddy_ over and over again until he cums all over my back? Is that what you want me to do? Does that make me the _perfect testimony?_ " She flinches.

"Akechi-kun-"

"What's going on?" Akira's skepticism bleeds into the back of my head and my clone scrambles to its feet at the sight of him. Sae waits a moment before clearing her throat and swiftly packing up her things. "I apologise for the intrusion, we were only having a conversation." She sets a card by my hand. " _Please_ , call me."

I feel myself shake like a mutt that has been left in the rain.

"Goro-?"

I run.

 

* * *

 

  
I feel like I've been shot between the bones of my ribcage. I have a choice but I'm bleeding out too quickly. I am heavy and dying and reptiles watch ne with shining teeth: I am gushing blood and smell of decomposition. Everything rushes into me like a track stars first inhale of air

_"No, baby", she coos gently, "it's fine, just watch the T.V., okay? There's a good boy. My special boy, huh? You're doing so well for mama, Goro. So good."_

"I see horned demons with enormous whips, who lash those spirits cruelly from behind", my clones footsteps are furious, "How their first strokes made those sinners lift. No sinner waited for a second stroke to fall - or for a third. Where do you stand?"

_The house had red bricks and cracks in the foundation. Swarms of jasmine clouded the windows and the backyard smelt overwhelmingly of rose. I would dip my feet in the pond and she'd smile. She'd smile at me over the rim of her glasses_

_"Don't you think I deserve to see him, Maemi? God knows how much you've fucked him up already. He's never had a man in his life. Never had a father. I don't give a fuck what-"_

_"The two of us are fine without you", she growls into the phone. She looks kind in green. "Don't call again." She's crying and I remember tugging on her pants._

_"It's okay, baby." She scoops me into her arms. "Did I wake you up? You know I'm never going to leave you on your own, dont you? What we have is special, we need eachother. I love you, okay? I love you so much, my special boy."_

My body hits the door, my feet miles away and attempting to catch up. My clone wails against me, ripping at my chest and wetting the centre of my back. 

_"Suicide", they murmur. And the nice man with the goatee is taking care of me. Wincing._

_"How do you feel, Goro?", he asks and I don't know what he means. He opens his mouth again but the door swings open. A tall man. He's so tall. And wide. Broad. He reminds me of Darth Vader. He stands in the doorway._

_His eyes flick to me and then to the man with the goatee, assessing. There's a short woman behind him who doesn't look like Princess Leia._

_"I'll take it from here", Fake Darth Vader says. The man beside me looks appalled._

_"Who are you?"_

_"Sakura-san, it would be best if you took your leave", Not Princess Leia speaks up. He steels himself, but leaves with a sharp look to the others that scares me. There's a tension that evaporates and the man nods the woman away. The door closes he is smiling._

_"Hi, Goro. My names Mr. Masayoshi." He kneels and I tilt my head. Chewing on my fingers._

_"Are you my daddy?" Mr. Masayoshi chuckles, his fingers lightly brushing my cheek with a pinch_

_"No, honey. But you're going to live with me now, how does that sound?"_

_"D'y.. d'ya have doggies?"_

_"We can get some if you want", Mr. Masayoshi runs his fingers through my hair. "How do you feel, Goro?"_

I don't know. My breathing shakes and I'm being buzzed in. My clone holds my hand tightly and a guard looks at me sceptically. I am _nine_ when I use his shower for the first time.

"I heard the people whine in the next pouch and heard them as they snorted with their snouts; we heard them use their palms to beat themselves. And exhalations, rising from below, stuck to the banks, encrusting them with mold, and so waged war against both eyes and nose... This was the place we reached; the ditch beneath held people plunged in excrement that seemed as if it had been poured from human privies."

_"This is all okay, you know. Don't feel guilty". He pushes my hair aside and kisses my wet shoulder. "You're growing up into a young man. I'm proud of you."_

I am _twelve_ when we first have sex. At least, I think now, at least he had standards. At least I wasn't a child.

I am _thirteen_ when he mentions my mother. Briefly and in passing. Bare enough to forget about but it sticks. It sticks in my throat. I'm experiencing my first voice cracks and acne waves and I remember my mothers manicured nails (her pretty nails on my legs) while I sat on her lap watching the lady talk on T.V. I'm stuck in a panic attack until he finds me in the pantry.

Shido looks up. I can see a small flicker of surprise in his eyes that he mask it skillfully. My clone let's go of my hand. It's dressed in black robes with its shoulders exposed. It looks in pain and lingers towards the back of the office, murmuring.

"The banners of the King of Hell advance toward us; now, therefore, look ahead of thee... and see if thou perceive him."

"You were to be picked up later." I shut his office door behind me.

"We need to talk."

"Okay", he pauses then stands out of the chair I've sat naked in countless times, just _waiting_ for him to get back from work. He stands in front of me and leans back on the desk that I kneeled under when I was eleven and four months. He doesn't smile. Danger exudes him. "Lets talk." For a moment I see myself around him. In each place I'd touched, as if frozen in time. Behind me, my clone touches my shoulders. Grips the bones of my back and whispers in fear.

"Please... do not ask me how faint and frozen I became. I can't say it. Every time I try, the words just fall short of _what he really is._ I couldn't die and I wasn't allowed to live. Please, Goro, if you can- think for yourself. I became deprived... and he towered from ice."

"A prosecutor", my tongue lingers against Sae's name, "spoke to me today. She was worried about your political plans."

There is flint behind his eyes.

"She went to you."

I match his gaze.

"She knew my parents."

And he smiles at me.

"What are you going to do?"

"I-", _no no no_ , "what?"

" _What are you going to do_ ", he paces his words deliberately. I open my mouth to speak but he fixes his cufflinks. It cuts me off. There are so many fucking birds screeching outside. "You're seventeen, Goro. There's no running away, and I doubt you'd be able to survive off of that money you get whoring about, hm?"

He enters my space: taller and broader. My forehead touches his nose when I push my shoulders back. "I'm all you have", he says, a tinge of mocking sadness in his voice. My clone grips my clothes. His hand grips my wrist. "We've only got each other, Goro. You understand that, _don't you?_ "

I pull away harshly and slap him. A sharp bell followed by the squawk of a crow outside. "You're _sick_ , you're just like her-"

"And you came _every time"_ , he shoves me to the desk, my hips hitting the wood painfully and his hands strenching across my lower back. "If you never wanted it, why'd you come crawling back to bed every night, huh?" I kick out and he laughs. "Goro, you're being ridiculous. This is just some kind of rebellious phase-"

"You're my _fucking_ father!", I scream. The thought of my voice breaking like a prepubescent teens makes me sick- he probably likes it. He probably gets off on it. Wood digs under my nails as I scratch desperately at the desk. "You're _disgusting!_ "

"Goro, calm down." _The zipper the zipper he's pulling down his zipper I can feel his breath on my neck oh no please no please don't-_

"No! Wait-!"

"I _love_ you, Goro."

My clone whispers to me.

"If he was once as handsome as he now is ugly and, I do not wish to know. I marvel as I see him, on his head, he has three faces: one blood-red and then another two that join the first... He weeps from six eyes and down three chins. Within each mouth, with gnashing teeth he will tear to bits a sinner, so that he may serve pain to three at once. Goro get out. _Get out of here!_ "

"If you loved me you wouldn't do this", I splutter. His hands are cold and slimy and burn me all at once- bacteria doesn't die it festers. "Fuck you. _Fuck you._ "

"Try again."

" _Please_ -"

It is painful and raw and I bite my tongue, feeling my shoulders collapse at the pressure as I let out a clenched sob. " _Please_ don't. Please don't do this I _don't want this._ "

"Tell me you love me", he touches my hair and I don't want him to touch me there. I wish my firsts weren't his to have. I wish he'd never once touched my hand. "Tell me you're going to stay and be good."

"I-I-"

"Goro." I wish she never took what was mine. I wish she never touched my thigh. "If you don't-"

" _I love you!_ ", I cry, collapsing between hiccups and outright sobbing. "I _l-love_ you, Shido-san."

"Call me _daddy_."

" _P-please_ , daddy." I want to vomit all over myself but I can't even stop to breathe. His own breath groans all over me and he presses harder into my core. This is death. This is death whispering _he is here_.

"Good boy."

Rock formations, a cave or something disasterous, torn to pieces by age, were slick with white gloss.

Hell is cold. My insides burn.

For a moment I let myself stare. The cave is flooded with water- like something out of those old Sci-Fi movies I'd sneak to watch late at night. I feel trepidation in my bones and my compass (moral, geographical) equates to a drawn-on watch. I blink once, and they're there. They emit an unsettling orange.

Between them, is me. Fifteen, maybe. Almost sixteen.

"In the middle of the journey of our life", he starts gently, "I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost." He stares at his hands as if he could solve each issue with twenty-five dollar, online chiromancy. "There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness."

Soft laughter echoed through the cave, a whisper that slinked through the water and relaxed my shoulders. _Akira_. I step towards the water, and watch my younger self finally look up. His wardens, the two creatures flanking his sides, remained frozen in invisible ice. Their sweat rolled down their skin too slowly.

"I'm sorry", I whisper. The water clenches around my ankles. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I didn't so anything to help us."

His eyes are so, so fucking tired. I want to hold him to my chest, lie to him, give him a glass of water and tuck him into bed.

"Eternal pain", he rolls his wrist, "It feels that way, doesn't it? We are among losses and exterior justice is far too... far." His voice falters and he drops his hand. "God created us with the highest wisdom, _God_ lied to us with primal love."

"That wasn't love."

"In his own sick way", he meets my eyes, "maybe it was. Here, you had abandoned hope. You will never leave without it."

As the water reaches my knees, I stare at the three; a hollow turmoil only continuing to whittle inside of me. My mother, poised badly in the form of the Venus de Milo, still drips blood from where her two arms had been severed (but slowly, as if gravity did not retain its power here).

And my father, nothing more than a modern Farnese Hercules.

"I don't know what to do."

His jaw tenses so hard that I am worried about his teeth. His hair, slicked down one side of his face, makes me think how different we really are. What barriers we must share.

He holds the water like elastic, digging his nails into it as if it were his own thighs.

Our parents eyes set alight and words reach through to my stomach and  _squeeze._

"He keeps it in the top drawer."

The gunshot is so loud that I see white.

First, I feel the blood splatter onto my back.

He coughs loudly and chokes, sharp crescents finding their way to my hips as he clings to whatever resolve lifecan find. I can't blink. I can still feel him inside of me. My teeth ache and I pull the gun away, listening to the thud of his body as it hit the floor and feeling my knees jerk inward. I cry. With my forehead pressed to the desk and a gun clasped to my ear I cry, too afraid to pull up my jeans and too angry to let go of the weapon.

From here, I realise, I am unable to see the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> abuse changes a person and can make them forget who they are. when it happens so young you can forget who you were even trying to grow up as. i'm trying to say that an enemy to you could be someone else's safe haven because of the manipulation that has corrupted and robbed their life. it's hard to understand who's on your side and who's not. it's hard to move past these things with a clean outlook. i urge anyone experiencing any kind of abuse or suspects that they are experiencing this to research and to find help; there is always someone in your corner.


End file.
